Mr. Foozler (who, while waiting for the last train, has wandered to the end of the platform, opened the door of the signal-box, and watched the signalman's manipulations of the levers for some moments with hazy perplexity, suddenly). "Arf o' Burt'n 'n birrer f' me, guv'nor!"
"Third-class single to Ruswarp, please, and a dog ticket. How much?"
"Fourpence-halfpenny—threepence for the dog, and three-halfpence for yourself."
"Ah! you reckon by legs on this line."
