“Oh!” said Ned, “do you know anything about it, sir? It’s no odds to me, only a man can’t shut his ears.”
“P’r’aps I do and p’r’aps I doant; but it beant no bi’niss o’ thine.”
“I didn’t mean no offence, but anybody can read the paper, surely; it’s a free country. P’r’aps you’re the man himself; I didn’t think o’ that.”
“P’r’aps I be, and p’r’aps I beant.”
“And p’r’aps your name is Bumpkin?”
“And p’r’aps it beant, and what then?”
“Why, you’ve nothing to do with it, that’s all; and I don’t see why you should interfere.”
“I can’t have no quarrelling in my house,” said the landlady. “This gentleman’s nothing to do with it; he knows nothing at all about it; so, if you please, gentlemen, we needn’t say any more.”
“Oh! I don’t want to talk about it,” said Ned.
“No more do I,” chimed in his companion; “but it’s a pity that he should take up our conversation when he hasn’t anything to do with it, and his name isn’t Bumpkin, and he hasn’t lost his watch. It’s no odds to me; I don’t care, do you, Ned?”