A solum female, lookin sumwhat like a last year’s beanpole stuck into a long meal bag, cum in and axed me was I athurst and did I hunger? to which I urbanely anserd “a few.” She went orf and I endeverd to open a conversashun with the old man.
“Elder, I spect?” sed I.
“Yay,” he sed.
“Helth’s good, I reckon?”
“Yay.”
“What’s the wages of a Elder, when he understans his bizness—or do you devote your sarvices gratooitus?”
“Yay.”
“Stormy night, sir.”
“Yay.”
“If the storm continners there’ll be a mess underfoot, hay?”