‘Well, she has him properly caught, for he has ti lie there idle the best part ov a week, an’ cannet work for another week efter that, the skelp he’d got frae the fall bein’ a serious affair, as it seemed.
‘When he gets up again he was sae savage at the chaff he gets aboot bein’ knocked doon biv his missus that he gans back tiv his hoos iv a hurry, tak’s off his belt, an’ is gannin’ ti strap her within an inch ov her life, when she says, “Tom, an’ who was it that’s been nursin’ thoo this last fortnight?” An’ she axes it quietly, facin’ him wivoot a tremor, her eyes fixed upon his.
‘Tom stands there wiv his arm uplifted; but though he was hot ti strike her, somehoo or ither, as he said efter, he was fair bested if he could manage it.
‘Well, that was aboot the beginnin’ an’ the end o’t, for she’d conquered him properly, an’ Mister Six-Foot-Two soon found oot he’d got a proper taskmaster for his missus, even though she was but a yard an’ a half high, an’ looked as though ye could have snapt her across yor arm. She didn’t knock him doon again, but she was elwis surprisin’ him inti startin’ things, an’ when he tired ov it she would scorn him a bit, an’ ask, “An’ what’s the good o’ bein’ a strong man if ye cannet show yor strength? Any fool can get drunk,” says she, “an’ lose his brass bettin’; but thoo’s a strong man, Tom, I’s warn’d, an’ I’ve bet Ned Lee’s wife a dollar that thoo can walk past the Pitman’s Arms on pay-Friday night wivvoot ever lookin’ inside!”
‘Well, that was the way o’t i’ Lizzie’s case. She soon had her Samson’s locks clipped short, an’ iv a few years’ time he becomes a depity, a back overman, an’ finally fore overman, has a hoos ov his own, an’ a whole raa (row) o’ cottages.
‘Some has different ways from others,’ reflected my companion, further, ‘but aal womenfolk’s ambitious.’
‘Noo, tak’ my own case—“the Heckler’s” —when I got married on the aad lady there was no nonsense aboot the business. “Ho-way,” I says, “will ye tak’ us, Betty?” for I kenned nicely beforehand she was the right sort for us, havin’ obsarved her previous, an’ walked oot wiv her a Sunday night or two. “Ay, an’ I will, Geordie,” she says thankfully, an’ as meek as skim milk; but for aal that I’ve been got the best o’ lots o’ time biv her ambition, an’ noo, here I is, wiv a fam’ly o’ seven, an’ the missus insistin’ upon Harry’s—that’s the eldest boy, ye ken—gannin’ ti the Grammar School ti parfect hissel’ as a scholar. Ay, wor Harry’s a proper scholar, I’s warn’d, but schoolin’s tarr’ble expensive.
‘An’ noo, I’ll just gie ye this bit advice, Maistor John. Divvn’t thoo get married unless thoo marries a heiress, for, I tell thoo, aal women’s ambitious, an’ ambition’s a tarr’ble expensive hobby.
‘Gox! yes, just fearful, Maistor John.’