“A man need be as tiff as a band to stand it all,” said another.
“Ay, tough as a bont whong,” said another.
“Well, I shall be a very poor creature,” said another, “if this here’s going to last. I’m ’bout pined to dead now.”
“I shall flit and get wuck somewheer else.”
“Iver get berry pie for dinner now, Sim Slee?” said another, alluding to a favourite luxury of Sim’s, who was accredited with having stolen a neighbour’s gooseberries to make the famous berry pie.
Here there was a bit of a laugh, a good sign, for the men seemed ripe for mischief.
“His missus gives him tongue for breakfast ivery morning,” said another.
“Sim, come home wi’ uz and hev a bit o’ custard,” said another, and there was a general laugh from the gaunt-looking men.
“Nice bit o’ stuffed chine at my place, Sim,” said another; and one after the other, men, whose fare had been bread and potatoes for many days, gave their great orator invitations to partake of the popular delicacies of the place.
“Tellee what,” said big Harry, coming up, “I mean to have somebody’s thack off if this game arn’t soon over.”