“Say, Tommy,” said another, “keep thee fist tight i’ the bell, or thee’ll do some un a mischief.”
The appearance of Robinson, the landlord, and his wife, in gorgeous array, saved the brass instrument players from further banter, for the landlord had to be cheered. Then came churchwarden Bultitude, with, close behind, Jessie and John Maine, and this party had to be cheered.
“Say, Chutchwarden, why don’t a give parson a job for them two?” shouted some one; and, with scarlet cheeks, poor Jessie hurried into the church, where her eyes met John Maine’s with no disfavour.
“Wheer’s Tom Podmore? Why don’t he bring his lass?” shouted a workman.
But neither Daisy, Tom, nor Banks put in an appearance; and the crowd were on the look-out for some one else to banter, when the vicar appeared, to be received with deafening cheers, the men pressing forward to shake hands as he went slowly up the path.
“Say, mun, parson looks straange and wankle,” said one.
“Ay, but he is pasty-faced; he’s been wucking too hard.”
“Wucking!” said another; “why, he’s nowt to do.”
“Nowt to do, lad! why, he does as much i’ one week as thou dost i’ a month.”
“Say,” said another, “I’m getting strange and hungry.”