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Updated: May 23, 2025
"So they tell me." "And what does the likes o' you want wi' the likes o' me?" "Work!" "Know anythin' about smithin'?" "Not a thing." "Then why do 'ee come 'ere?" "To learn." "More fool you!" said the smith. "Why?" "Because smithin' is 'ard work, and dirty work, and hot work, and work as is badly paid nowadays." "Then why are you a smith?" "My feyther was a smith afore me."
"You've got a tidy, sizeable arm," said he, as I dried myself vigorously, "likewise a good strong back an' shoulders; theer's the makin's of a man in you as might do summat say in the plough or smithin' way, but it's easy to see as you're a gentleman, more's the pity, an' won't. Hows'ever, sir, if you've a mind to a cut o' good beef, an' a mug o' fine ale say the word."
"Why, you bean't workin' 's arternoon then, Job?" he inquired solemnly. "Noa!" "Goin' to tak' a 'olleyday, p'r'aps?" "Ah! I'm done wi' smithin' leastways, for Black Jarge." "And him wi' all that raft o' work in, Job? Pretty fix 'e'll be in wi' no one to strike for 'im!" said Simon. "Sarves un right tu!" retorted Job, furtively rubbing his left knee.
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