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Updated: August 4, 2024
An' 'e wants me to go out wiv 'im next Benk 'Oliday out to 'Ampstead 'Eath. 'E never got as far as arstin' me that before. I know it was that 'at wot done it." "Not it, Eliza," Cecilia laughed. "It was just your hair under the hat. I told you how pretty it would be, if you would only brush it more." "Well, I never 'ad no brush till you give me your old one," said Eliza practically.
Think twiced of it, and don't you go wasting your time ashore when there's such a profession as the sea opening of its arms to you and a arstin of you to come. Look at your father: there's a man!" "Is he a very fine sailor?" "Is he a fine sailor!" said the boatswain staring. "What a question to ask! why, there aren't a better one nowhere. Think twiced on it, my lad, and come all the way."
You must 'a done it so no lies; for that wur the on'y thing as ever skeared 'er, arstin' 'er about 'er father, pore dear....Why, man alive! what are you a-gurnin' at? an' what are you a-smackin' your forred wi' your 'and like that for, an' a-gurnin' in my face like a Chessy cat? Blow'd if I don't b'lieve you're drunk. An' who the dickens are you a-callin' a fool, Mr. Imperance?
"Now," said Mr Barnacle, "will you tell us when you last blacked his boots?" "A Toosdy." "Do you remember whether he was alone?" "Ain't you arstin' me questions, though!" exclaimed Billy.
Then there's the Conchies what 'as a easy time in clink if I see a Conchy in civvy life, I'll knock 'is bloody 'ead orf, struth I will. And the civvies gorblimy when I was 'ome on leave they kep' on arstin' me, 'Ain't yer wounded yet? an' 'When are yer goin' back? But d'yer think they care a damn Not they, you bet yer life on it!
P'raps," her smile an illuminating thing, "me bein' the low an' pore in spirit at the beginnin', an' settin' 'ere all alone by me-self day in an' day out, just thinkin' it all over an' arstin' an' waitin' p'raps light was gave me 'cos I was in such a little place an' in the dark. But I ain't pore in spirit now. Lor', no, yer can't be when yer've on'y got to believe.
Bert reassured his brother by a glimpse of a partly eaten swede, and was still telling his story in fragments and parentheses, when he discovered behind the counter a yellow and forgotten note addressed to himself. "What's this?" he said, and found it was a year-old note from Edna. "She came 'ere," said Tom, like one who recalls a trivial thing, "arstin' for you and arstin' us to take 'er in.
"My farver's there awaitin' for me." "Garn!" said the man; "you don't kid me so easy." "I ain't arstin' you for anything except the way," said Dickie. "More you ain't," said the man, hesitated, and pulled his hand out of his pocket. "Ain't kiddin'? Sure? Father at Gravesend? Take your Bible?" "Yuss," said Dickie.
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