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Updated: June 5, 2025
It's a damned sight too hot for roasting cakes. The top side of it's three hundred degrees." "Three hundred degrees!" said Raut. "Three hundred centigrade, mind!" said Horrocks. "It will boil the blood out of you in no time." "Eigh?" said Raut, and turned. "Boil the blood out of you in ... No, you don't!" "Let me go!" screamed Raut. "Let go my arm!"
I remember just as well!... One of 'em and me struck up quite an acquaintance " "Naturally he'd take to you on sight." "Ow? Strynge 'ow we 'it it off, eigh?... You myke me think of 'im. Young chap, 'e was, the livin' spi't-'n-himage of you. It don't happen, does it, you're the same man?" "Oh, go to the devil!" "Naughty!" said the captain serenely, wagging a reproving forefinger.
"Eigh, you go fight, massa?" "Fight! no, you booby; but could not your own numscull the fellow's a fool so come ride on, ride on."
Long-drawn exclamations of "Eigh! Eigh!" greeted this magic, performed by means of permanganate crystals held between the fingers. "With this bathe the wounds of your steer. Then sprinkle the remainder over your cattle.
"It makes me think of Sludge the Medium," she said. He made no answer. She glanced at him suddenly. "Have you read Sludge the Medium?" "Eigh?" he said, coming back out of infinity. "What? I beg your pardon. Sludge, the Medium? I thought his name was it was Chaffery." He looked at her, clearly very anxious upon this question of fact. "But I mean Browning's 'Sludge. You know the poem."
"Damn!" said he. Then, "Damned Fool!" "Eigh?" said Mr. Hoopdriver, looking round suddenly with a piece of cheese in his cheek. The man in drab faced him. "I called myself a Damned Fool, sir. Have you any objections?" "Oh! None. None," said Mr. Hoopdriver. "I thought you spoke to me. I didn't hear what you said." "To have a contemplative disposition and an energetic temperament, sir, is hell.
"Eigh! ey thowt he wur i' a strawnge fettle," replied Bess; "an so he be a lawyer fro' Lunnon, eh? Weel," she added, laughing, and displaying two ranges of very white teeth, "he'll remember Bess Whitaker, t' next time he comes to Pendle Forest." "And she'll remember me," rejoined Potts. "Neaw more sawce, mon," cried Bess, "or ey'n raddle thy boans again."
"Ey knoas it, lad, ey knoas it," replied Elizabeth; "boh fo my own pert ey'm nah afeerd. They darna touch me; an' if they dun, ey con defend mysel reet weel. Here's a letter to thy gran-mother," she added, giving him a sealed packet. "Take care on it." "Fro Mistress Nutter, ey suppose?" asked Jem. "Eigh, who else should it be from?" rejoined Elizabeth.
"Ghost or not," said Jennet, who had been occupied in regarding the new-comer attentively, "ey'n go an speak to it. Ey'm nah afeerd, if yo are." "Eigh do, Jennet, that's a brave little lass," said Blackrod, glad to be rid of her in any way. "Stay!" cried Adam Whitworth, coming up at the moment, and overhearing what was said "you must not go near the gentleman.
In hands both huge and red he fondled tenderly a squat brandy flask whose contents had apparently been employed as a first aid to the drowning. As Kirkwood's gaze encountered his, the man smiled sourly, jerking his head to one side with a singularly derisive air. "Hi, matey!" he blustered. "'Ow goes it now? Feelin' 'appier, eigh?" "Some, thank you ... more like a drowned rat."
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