“I was so glad to get ’ome agin I didn’t think,” ses Dixon. “I hope you’re not ’urt.”
He started telling them all about his ’ardships while they were at tea, but none of ’em seemed to care much about hearing ’em. Bob said that the sea was all right for men, and that other people were sure not to like it.
“And you brought it all on yourself,” ses Charlie. “You’ve only got yourself to thank for it. I ’ad thought o’ picking a bone with you over those letters you wrote.”
“Let’s ’ope ’e’s come back more sensible than wot ’e was when ’e went away,” ses old Burge, with ’is mouth full o’ toast.
By the time he’d been back a couple o’ days George Dixon could see that ’is going away ’adn’t done any good at all. Nobody seemed to take any notice of ’im or wot he said, and at last, arter a word or two with Charlie about the rough way he spoke to some o’ the customers, Charlie came in to Mrs. Dixon and said that he was at ’is old tricks of interfering, and he would not ’ave it.
“Well, he’d better keep out o’ the bar altogether,” ses Mrs. Dixon. “There’s no need for ’im to go there; we managed all right while ’e was away.”
“Do you mean I’m not to go into my own bar?” ses Dixon, stammering.
“Yes, I do,” ses Mrs. Dixon. “You kept out of it for four years to please yourself, and now you can keep out of it to please me.”
“I’ve put you out o’ the bar before,” ses Charlie, “and if you come messing about with me any more I’ll do it agin. So now you know.”
He walked back into the bar whistling, and George Dixon, arter sitting still for a long time thinking, got up and went into the bar, and he’d ’ardly got his foot inside afore Charlie caught ’old of ’im by the shoulder and shoved ’im back into the parlour agin.