I never ’eard sich a crash, nor yet sich a roar as old ’Opwood give like demented lions, and out he come on the doorstep, jest as them boys sent a second wolley of stones, and one ketched ’im slap in the mouth, and down he went like a dead un, and them young scoundrels was off like the dust afore the wind as the sayin’ is.
If all them ’Opwoods didn’t come out on the doorstep, and give me their Billinsgate, for the old feller’s got two reg’lar brimstones of daughters, besides ’is old wife as is a reg’lar old dragon of Wantage.
They all yells at me “’ow dare you set them boys on to destroy our property.”
I says, “Me set the boys on? I was a-drivin’ them away with their beastly noise a-distractin’ any one, as you’ve been encouragin’.”
“They was playin’ beautiful,” says one of them Miss ’Opwoods, “my favourite Waltz.”
I says, “So I should think jest the music fit for you to dance to,” for she’s forty-five, and got a ’ump back, and as ugly as she’s wicious.
NOTHING LIKE ADVERTISING YOURSELF.
“Oh, you old cat,” she says to me, a-gnashin’ ’er teeth, “’ow I should like to tear your old wig off.”
I says, “No doubt, for I’m sure you wants one bad enough.”