“It ud have done no good. Drunkenness aun’t a reason for exemption, as they say. Besides, I’d middling little to do in the matter. Faather was applying fur me, and he did all the talking—an unaccountable lot of it, too. I wurn’t took because there wurn’t enough said against it, I promise you. But seemingly before a farm chap like me gits off, he’s got to have a certifickit from the War Agricultural Committee, and they read a letter saying as they’d recommended one to be given, but the Executive Committee or summat hadn’t fallen in wud it. So there’s no use crying, mother, for go I must, and it’ll be none the easier for you making all this vrother.”
He was cross because he was unhappy.
“Will you be in the Royal Sussex, Tom—along of Mus’ Dixon and Mus’ Archie?” asked Zacky, the youngest boy.
“I dunno.”
“When ull you be leaving?”
“In a fortnight, I’ve told you.”
“I hear as how Bill Putland ull be going soon,” said Mrs. Beatup. “He’d be company like fur you, Tom.”
“Bill!—he’s too unaccountable fine and grand fur me. He thinks no end of himself being Mus’ Lamb’s chuvver. But I’ll tell you who’s joined the Sussex, though, and that’s Jerry Sumption. I met Mus’ Sumption, this evenun, and he toald me.”
“You doan’t mean to say as Jerry’s left the fackory?”