DEB. Thee’ll kiss the frying-pan if you come any o’ your nonsense round here.
ALLEN. What! won’t thee, when I tell ’ee I’ve bought Jim Whalley’s tan and cream shorthorn for ’ee?
DEB. (Pleased.) No! Have you?
ALLEN. I bought her this afternoon, and I got her for—(l.c., turning to his mother) I say, mother, our Deb’s bin and smoshed young Whalley.
MRS. R. Done what to un.
ALLEN. Smoshed him.
DEB. Why, I never touched him.
ALLEN. Yes thee have, thee’ve smoshed un—that be the new Lunnun word; made un in love wi’ thee.
MRS. R. It’s a funny way o’ doing it.
ALLEN. I doan’t know how her done it, but her done it. Why he wanted £25 for the cow at first, and when I told un her wur for Deb he looked as stupid as an old cow unself and said I could have her for £20, and then he asked me if she would like a calf. (Goes R.)