"If tha did tha'd be able to start a shop," sed Billy.
"Why not have your name put on it?" sed th' guard.
"Bith' mass! aw nivver thowt o' that!"
"There's a shop next door but one, a regular umbrella hospital, I dare say they would do it for you in a few minutes, and you've got plenty of time; I'll stay with your friend till you come back."
Aw went, an' gate inside aw tell'd what aw wanted to a nice modest lukkin' young woman, an' as sooin as shoo saw it, it seem'd to remind her ov her early days, maybe shoo'd an old mother somewhear'at had one like it, or a fayther moulderin' away i'th' churchyard'at had once been praad o' sich a one. Aw ommost felt sooary aw'd spokken, for whativver it wor, it made her bury her face in her white kertchy an' hurry away in a state o' agitation'at touched me to th' quick. In abaat a minit, a young bit ov a whipper-snapper ov a chap, wi' his hair pairted daan th' middle, comes, an' aw tell'd him what aw wanted. He seized hold ov it an' began handlin' it as if he'd noa more respect for it nor he had for hissen, (an' a chap'at pairts his hair daan th' middle is nivver troubled wi' mich,) an' then he started laffin' an' began axin' me all sooarts o' questions abaat it." "Young man," aw sed, "Aw didn't come here to give th' history o' my umbrella, aw coom to ax if yo could put mi name on it, an' if tha doesn't stop off messin' it up an' daan awl come raand an' see if my shoe tooa can stir thi brains a bit." He saw aw meant it so he sobered daan a bit an' handed it back to me, an' he sed 'he wor varry sorry but it wom't i' their line, but if aw tuk it across to a ironmonger's opposite aw should happen be able to get a door-plate to fit it.' "An' if aw do," aw says, "awl come for thy heead for th' door nop an' when aw come aght o' that shop yo couldn't tell whear th' pairtin' o' that chap's hair had been, but awl bet it wom't i'th' middle for a wick or two at after.
Aw didn't goa to th' ironmongers, but aw went back to whear aw'd left Billy, but he wor soa taen up wi' th' guard wol aw sat mi daan, quietly to wait an' as aw'd been put abaat a bit aw eased misen wi' havin' a tawk to mi umberel.—
What matters if some fowk deride,
An' point wi' a finger o' scorn?
Th' time wor tha wor lukt on wi' pride,
Befoor mooast o' th' scoffers wor bom.