“’Cos I don’t know wot Joe is going to say,” ses Bill. “You go in now, afore I make you.”
His wife went off grumbling, and then Bill told Joe Barlcomb to hurry up wot he’d got to say as ’e ’adn’t got much on and the weather wasn’t as warm as it might be.
“I sold you a shilling for a ha’penny last night, Bill,” ses Joe.
“Do you want to sell any more?” ses Bill Jones, putting his ’and down to where ’is trouser pocket ought to be.
“Not exactly that,” ses Joe Barlcomb. “This time I want you to sell me a shilling for a ha’penny.”
Bill leaned out of the winder and stared down at Joe Barlcomb, and then he ses, in a choking voice, “Is that wot you’ve come disturbing my sleep for at this time o’ night?” he ses.
“I must ’ave it, Bill,” ses Joe.
“Well, if you’ll wait a moment,” ses Bill, trying to speak perlitely, “I’ll come down and give it to you.”
Joe didn’t like ’is tone of voice, but he waited, and all of a sudden Bill Jones came out o’ that door like a gun going off and threw ’imself on Joe Barlcomb. Both of ’em was strong men, and by the time they’d finished they was so tired they could ’ardly stand. Then Bill Jones went back to bed, and Joe Barlcomb, arter sitting down on the doorstep to rest ’imself, went off and knocked up Peter Lamb.
Peter Lamb was a little man and no good as a fighter, but the things he said to Joe Barlcomb as he leaned out o’ the winder and shook ’is fist at him was ’arder to bear than blows. He screamed away at the top of ’is voice for ten minutes, and then ’e pulled the winder to with a bang and went back to bed.