“Who are you? Stand clear!” cried the Corporal, while the file marched stiffly onwards.
“Whur’s my daughter?”
“Stand clear—or A’ll have you put under arrest.”
“I want my daughter—Ivy Beatup.”
“Halt!” cried Seagrim to the file, which had now marched a discreet distance ahead. “A don’t knaw owt of your daughter. A’ve not clapped eyes on her sine Sunday week.”
“She’s run away.”
“A don’t knaw owt.”
“You don’t know where she is?”
“A don’t knaw owt. Quick march!” and off went he and his file in a cloud of dust, leaving Mus’ Beatup furious and confounded.