Here is a skinny, half-naked fellow, striving with all his might to draw a heavy bogie piled up with new blooms, half a ton or more in weight. His head is thrown far forward, about a yard from the ground. His arms, thin and small, are strained like rods of iron behind his back; only his toes grip the ground. He shouts out to someone near for help.
“Gi’ thee tha itch! Ast the gaffer for a mate. I got mi own work to do,” the other replies, and keeps hammering away.
Next is a belated stamper in want of tools. “Hast got a per o’ tongs to len’ us a minute, ole pal?”
“Shove off wi’ thee and make a pair, or else buy some, like I got to. Nobody never lends I nothin’,” is the answer he receives.
This one wants a blow. “Come an’ gi’ I a blow yer.”
“Gi’ thee a blow on the head. I got no time to mess about wi’ thee.”
Another is concerned as to the hour--there are those whose thoughts are always of the clock, anxiously awaiting the next stop. “What time is it, mate?”
“Aw! time thee wast better,” or “Same as ’twas last night at this time. Thee hasn’t bin yer five minutes it.”
Perhaps the steam pressure is low. “Wha’s bin at wi’ the steam, matey? We chaps can’t hit a stroke.”
“Got twisted in the pipes, I ’spect. Go an’ put thi blower on, an’ fire up a bit, an’ run that slag out.”
This one cannot obtain his supply of bars from the shears. “Now Matty! Hasn’t got that iron cut? I can’t wait about for thee.”
“Dwunt thee be in sich a caddle. Thee ootn’t get it none the zooner. Other people got to live as well as thee, dost naa!”
“All right! I shall go and see _he_,” (the overseer).
“Thee cast go an’ do jest whatever thee bist a-mine to. ’Twunt make a ’appoth o’ difference.”
By and by the overseer comes up and shouts--“Hey! Can’t you let these chaps on, Matthews?”
“No, I caan’t! Tha’ll hef to woite a bit. Ther’s some as bin a-woitin’ all night, ver nigh. ’Tis no good to plag’ I, else ya wunt get nothin’ done at all.”
Here is the forger bellowing at his driver. “Go on! Go on! Hit him! Hit him! Hit him! Light, ther’! Light! ’Old on! ’Old on! Whoa, then! Castn’t stop when I tells tha? Dost want to spile the jilly thing? Gi’ us up they gauges. A’s too thick now. Up a bit, ther! Hit un agyen! Light now! Light! Light! That’ll do! Whoa! Take ’old o’ this bar, an’ gi’ us that cutter. Now, Strawberry! turn ’e over in the fire, an’ don’ stand ther’ a-gappatin’. ’Aaf thi ’ed ’ll drop off in a minute. Ther’s a lot to do yet, else ya won’ get no balance. Hout o’ the road, oot!”