Nothing shall induce me to repeat the language of Mr. Bumpkin, as he jumped up from the table, and without hat or cap rushed out of the room, followed by Joe, and watched by Mrs. Bumpkin from the door. Just as he got to the farmyard by one gate, there was Snooks leaving it by another with Mr. Bumpkin’s pig in a sack in the box barrow which he was wheeling.
“Hulloa!” shouted the farmer; “hulloa here! Thee put un down—dang thee, what be this? I said thee shouldn’t ave un, no more thee sha’n’t. I beant gwine to breed Chichster pigs for such as thee at thy own price, nuther.” Snooks grinned and went on his way, saying;
“I bought un and I’ll ’ave un.”
“An I’ll ’ave thee, dang’d if I doant, afore jussices; t’ Squoire’ll tell thee.”
“I doant keer for t’ Squire no more nor I do for thee, old Bumpkin; thee be a cunnin’ man, but thee sold I t’ pig and I’ll ’ave un, and I got un too: haw! haw! haw! an thee got t’ money—nine-and-six—haw! haw! haw!”
Mr. Bumpkin by this time came up to him, but was so much out of breath, or “winded,” that he was unable to carry on the conversation, so he just tapped the bag with his stick as if to be certain the pig was there, and sure enough it was, if you might judge by the extraordinary wriggling that went on inside the bag.
The indomitable Snooks, however, with the largest and most hideous grin I ever saw, pushed on with his barrow, and Mr. Bumpkin having now sufficiently recovered his breath, said,
“Thee see ur tak un, didn’t thee, Joe?”
“Sure did ur,” answered the lad. “I seed un took un clane out o’ the stye, and put un in the sack, and wheeled un away.”
“Ha! so ur did, Joe; stick to that, lad—stick to un.”