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Penrose broke into a hearty laugh, and complimented Betty, telling her she was the sort of woman to make 'converts to the cause. Then old Malachi put on his wisest look, and continued: 'Mr. Penrose, aw mut as weel tell yo' afore yo' get wed, that it's no use feightin' agen a woman.
Now he never mentioned the game; he had exchanged old gods for new, and his homage was no longer paid to George Hirst or Wilfred Rhodes, but to Arran Chief, Yorkshire Hero, and Ailsa Craig. He took his gardening very seriously, and called it "feightin' t' Germans."
Why don't he 'tend to his feightin' an' get a stripe like Sarah Worsnop's lad ower t' way?" "Whisht a bit!" exclaimed her mother, "while I've gotten to t' end o' t' letter. Eh! but he do write bad; t' words is fair tum'lin' ower one anuther."
'Well! yo' and Jim may do as yo' like but I'm noan baan to turn aat o' th' owd Fold till I'm ta'en aat feet fermost. 'Nay, gronny don't tak' on so. Yo' cornd ston' agen law as haa it be; a writ is a writ, and if yo' hevn't got brass it's no use feightin'. 'A, lass! I'm feared thaa's reet naa-a-days them as has most gets most, and their own way i' th' bargain.
Really, now, you know, a fellow can't stand that sort of thing! A downright assault! I'm sorry I struck him, though devilish sorry! I'll pay the damage with pleasure. Mat. Tho. Aw'm o' reet. Let th' mon goo. What's he to tho or mo? Eigh! eigh! mo owd boans 'ud rayther not. It's noan blame sure to an owd mon to fo' tired o' feightin! Mat. Father! father! forgive me! I'm all yours.
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