Alick promised, an’ then left him.  Nah Alick wor a man ov his word, soa he decided net to goa hooam for fear o’ forgettin, but he hadn’t been sat long i’th’ ‘Tattered Rag Tap,’ befoor he fell asleep’ ’When he wakken’d it wor cloise on six o’ clock, an’ th’ furst thowt ’at struck him wor ‘at that wor th’ time for th’ meetin;—­for he didn’t think ’at it worn’t wol the day after; soa swallowin daan another stiff glass o’ rum, he set off to fotch Tommy.

When he gate thear he saw Tommy sittin nursin his heead an’ lukkin as sanctimonious as if he’d niver done owt wrang in his life.

‘Come on!’ he sed, ‘if tha doesn’t luk sharp tha’ll be to lat!’

‘What does ta mean, Alick,’ he sed, ‘th’ meetin isn’t till to morn at neet.’

‘Aw tell thi it’s to neet, an’ it’s time tha wor thear nah.  Aw promised tha should be i’ time an’ tha’ll ha to goa.’

‘Aw tell th’ meetin isn’t wol Thursday!’

‘Well, this is Thursday.’

‘Tha’rt drunk, Alick; tha doesn’t know what tha’rt talking abaat.’

Alick wor just drunk enuff to have his own rooad, an’ wodn’t listen to reason, soa he says, ’Awl let thi see who it is ’at’s druffen!  Awl awther ha thee made a deacon or a deead en afoor tha gooas to bed to neet!’ an’ sayin soa, he seized hold on him, an’ tuckin him under his arm as if he’d been a umbereller he started off aght o’ door.  Tommy begged an’ prayed, an’ kicked an’ fittered, but all to noa use.  Alick wor three times as big as him, an’ held him like a vice.

Just as they’d getten into th’ street they met all th’ miln fowk, an’ as they wor booath weel known, fowk laffed rarely, for they thowt it a gooid spree.  Th’ rooads wor varry mucky an’ sloppy, an’ as Alick worn’t varry steady on his pins they hadn’t gooan far befoor they wor booath rollin i’th’ sludge, but Alick niver left goa; he scramel’d up, an’ off agean, an’ wor varry sooin at th’ chapel door.  Th’ only consolation ’at poor Tommy had wor thinkin ‘at th’ chapel wodn’t be oppen, an’ then Alick wod find aght his mistak; but it unfortunately happened’ at ther wor a meetin that neet i’th vestry abaat establishing a Band o’ Hope, soa th’ chapel doors wor oppen.  Alick rushed in wi’ poor Tommy, moor deead nor alive.  Th’ noise they made sooin browt all th’ fowk aght o’th’ vestry, an’ th’ parson coom fussin to see what wor to do, an’ as ther wor nobbut one or two leets i’th’ chapel bottom, an’ nooan up stairs, he could hardly see what it all meant.  Just then Alick let goa, an’ Tommy flew up stairs like a shot, hooapin ’at as it wor ommost dark he’d be able to find his way aghtside befoor he wor seen.

Alick luk’d varry solid an’ tried to balance hissen by holdin to one o’th’ gas fixtures.

‘What’s the meaning of this?’ sed th’ parson.

‘Please yor reverence, hic,—­aw’ve browt yo th’ new deacon, hic,—­an’ a d—–­l ov a job aw’ve had to mak him come, but awm a man o’ mi word, an’ aw promised he should bi here i’ time, an’ aw’d ha browt him if aw’d had to being him in his coffin.  That’s th’ sooart ov chap aw am old cock!’