'By God, I'm sorry, Jim. That settles it.'
'By God. I've killed him then.' 'The doctor might.'
'Try, if you like; but that's a nasty hit.'
'Doctor's gone by. He won't be back till night.'
'Py Cot, the feather was not looking right.'
'By Jesus, chaps, I never meant to kill 'un.
Only to bat. I'll go to p'leece and tell 'un.
O Ern, for God's sake speak, for God's sake speak.'
No answer followed: Ern had done with dust,
'The p'leece is best,' the smith said, 'or a beak.