"A fine morning, my friend," was pulled up with the reply:
"Did aw say it war'nt?—dun yo' want to hargue?"
It is surprising how a person of regular habits feels the lack of any little comforts and companionships to which he has been accustomed. A Lancashire collier had lost a favourite dog by death, that, on Saturday afternoons or Sundays, he had been in the habit of taking with him for a stroll. An acquaintance sitting on a gate saw the bereaved collier coming along the road trundling a wheelbarrow.
"What's up wi' thee, Bob—what ar' t' doin' wi' th' wheelbarrow, and on good Sunday too?"
"Well, thae sees," replied Bob, "aw've lost mi dog, an' a fellow feels gradely lonesome bout company, so aw've brought mi wheelbarrow out for a bit of a ramble."
These stories go to prove that the Lancashire collier is a simple unsophisticated being, and the following[3] is still further evidence of the fact:
[3] Quoted from an article on "Quacks" by Mr R. J. Hampson in the East Lancashire Review for November 1899.
