‘Ay, o’ course I did; we aal did that, an’ not wivvoot reasons,’ responded ‘the Heckler,’ ‘for he was full o’ misery at that time, an’ wanted ti get shot o’ the whole lot ov it. Jim was a fine, tall, proper lad—“bonny Jim” the lasses called him—wunnerfu’ handy, too, iv aal sorts of ways, an’ as for behaviour, wey, he could talk ti my lord as canny as tiv a pot-boy.
‘Well, wiv aal these gifts o’ fortune it wasn’t surprisin’ he got hisself sweetheartin’ wiv a young, bonny, quiet-faced lassie, daughter ov aad Sheepshanks, the farmer, close in by the village.
‘It was a bit lift for Jim, for she had some brass, but aad Sheepshanks, he tries to forbid the “callins”’ (banns) ‘i’ church; “for what’s a pitman,” says he, “that a farmer’s daughter should marry on?—a dirty-faced, drunken, dog-lovin’, gamblin’ chep,” says he; an’ a lot o’ gob o’ that kind, ye ken, bein’ a red-hot Tory wiv a lot o’ Noah’s-ark kind ov ideas iv his head.
‘The lassie didn’t think that, though; she just warshipped Jim, followin’ him aboot wiv her eyes everywhere, just like the aad bitch’ (here he nodded towards the greyhound beside him) ‘does “the Heckler.”
‘Well, they marries an’ has a bit fam’ly, an’ Jim gans ahead quick; he was marrow’ (mate) ‘wi’ me as a hewer yence, an’ then he becomes a deputy, an’ bein’ a great reader an’ a gran’ speaker, there was some talk o’ makin’ him wor Member o’ Parlyment when he got a bit older. Well, it had aal been plain sailin’ for Jim so far, an’ everybody thought his success was sartin, but he soon came tarr’ble nigh makin’ a tragedy ov hisself, poor chap.
‘There was a young widow woman came ti live doon here at the Prospect House ower there. She’d been married on a fat old chap that had made a lot o’ brass i’ the toon i’ publics, an’ they used to come here for a bit i’ the summer, an’ when he died she comes doon ti the “Prospect” ti bide for good an’ aal.
‘I sometimes think,’ continued my companion after a slight pause, ‘that it’s a sair pity folks isn’t sometimes drooned like kittens or “put under” same as dogs that turn oot no use. It wud save a lot o’ misfortunes an’ misery, I’s warn’d, an’ unless ye drooned a Gladstone, or a John Wesley, or mevvies even a “Heckler,” the world would be aal the better o’t.
‘Anyways, she should have been drooned slap off as a babby, for she was a rank bad un—just rank bad ti the bone—an’ when a woman is bad, she’s just the devil’s own viewer[11] or deputy, by Gox!
‘She had been on the stage, ’twas said, at one time, an’ there was queer stories aboot her, so that the gentry-folk aboot here would have nowt ti do wiv her, sae she had aal the better opportunity ti play her tricks wi’ Jim.
‘She was free wi’ the brass, ye ken, an’ give subscriptions awa for the askin’, providin’ she had her name an’ address clagged up large on the play-bills, an’ was a champion at gettin’ up concerts for wor Mechanic Institute an’ such-like entertainments.