The man coughed and smiled, and then ’e pushed the door open gently and came in, and stood there fingering ’is beard as though ’e didn’t know wot to say.
“I’ve come back, Charlie,” he ses at last.
“Wot, George!” ses Charlie, starting. “Why, I didn’t know you in that beard. We all thought you was dead, years ago.”
“I was pretty nearly, Charlie,” ses Dixon, shaking his ’ead. “Ah! I’ve ’ad a terrible time since I left ’once.”
“‘You don’t seem to ha’ made your fortune,” ses Charlie, looking down at ’is clothes. “I’d ha’ been ashamed to come ’ome like that if it ’ad been me.”
“I’m wore out,” ses Dixon, leaning agin the bar. “I’ve got no pride left; it’s all been knocked out of me. How’s Julia?”
“She’s all right,” ses Charlie. “Here, Ju—”
“H’sh!” ses Dixon, reaching over the bar and laying his ’and on his arm. “Don’t let ’er know too sudden; break it to ’er gently.”
“Fiddlesticks!” ses Charlie, throwing his ’and off and calling, “Here, Julia! He’s come back.”
Mrs. Dixon came running downstairs and into the bar. “Good gracious!” she ses, staring at her ’usband. “Whoever’d ha’ thought o’ seeing you agin? Where ’ave you sprung from?”