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Updated: June 12, 2025
Comin' home at night, there was a juce av a crowd on the station platform, consekins of a late thrain. Sthandin' by the edge av the platform at the fore end, just as thrain came in, some onvisible murdherer gives me a stupenjus drive in the back, and over I wint on the line, mid-betwixt the rails.
But he reads whin he is be himsilf. He reads in bed. He reads with his meals. He is a secret reader. He nips in second-hand book stores. He can't go on a thrain an' have anny fun lookin' at th' other passengers or invyin th' farmers their fields an' not invyin' their houses. Not a bit iv it. He has to put a book in his pocket.
Working frantically, Jim was able to drag their submerged ally from the retreat that had almost buried him. The cold air brought him to, and he rose staggeringly to his feet. "Yer started your thrain too suddint, Mr. Ketchel, and pulled two ton of coal over my poor head," cried the fireman in half humorous indignation. "Why didn't you whistle and give me fair warning as to your intentions.
We cud see him as th' thrain moved out, walkin' up an' down th' aisle, askin' iv there was anny Englishman in th' car that 'd like to go out on th' platform an' rowl off with him.
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