“Then it couldn’t ha been him,” thowt her father, an then he axt: 

“Do yo know a comic song at awm varry fond ov, abaat Buffalo Bill scalpin Railway Directors in th’ Wilds o’ Kensington?”

Mabel laft, an Sydney tried to laff too, as he sed:—­

“Aw nivver heeard ov it befooar, but if yor fond ov it, aw’ll try an get it an sing it for yo.”

Th’ owd man wor baan to ax some mooar questions when Sydney thinkin it wor time to change th’ subject, sed:—­“Aw’ve come, Mr. Mothersdale, to ax if yo’ve onny objections to”—­he’d quite forgetten abaat his voice ageean, an when he gate that far, Mabel’s father begun o’ beein quite sewer i’ wor th’ madman, an he stuck in wi:—­“Do yo happen, Mr. Horne, to have a big knife abaat yo, for aw want one for abaat hawf a minnit?”

Sydney wor just baan to bring aght his Jack knife, but he remembered just i’ time, soa he sed, “Noa, awm sorry aw haven’t, but Mister Mothersdale wod yo have onny objections to Mabel an me keepin company?  Awm weel off, aw’ve a gooid hooam to tak her to, an awm sewer aw can mak her happy.”

Nah ivvery word at Sydney sed made owd Mothersdale mooar sewer at he wor th’ chap at he’d coom daan i’th train wi th’ neet afooar.  He wor awfully riled abaat it yo may be sewer, for if ther wor one thing on earth at he couldn’t abide it wor th’ stink o’ bacca, an he’d been varry near smooared i’ that railway carriage.  But wol he wor as mad as a hatter abaat it, he remembered at he’d heeard Mabel say ’at this Mister Horne had heaps o’ brass, soa he thowt he’d say no mooar abaat th’ neet afooar, but let him wed th’ lass, an tak a revenge aght ov him some other way.

Soa he started jawin away, as these better class fathers does, abaat ha he couldn’t bide to part wi his dear Mabel, an soa on; but when Sydney tell’d him abaat his Bank shares, an th’ cottage haase property, he sooin gave in.

“Well,” he sed wi a sniff, as if he’d getten a bad cowd in his heead, “if yo booath on yo love each other soa mich, aw willn’t stand in th’ road o’ yor happiness, but ther’s one little request aw must ask yo to grant me, Mr. Horne, in return for my dowter?”

Sydney wor soa sewted at th’ way things wor gooin, at he blurted aght, “awst be glad to promise owt yo like to ask, sir.”

“Awm a member o’ th’ Anti-tobacca Society,” sed th’ owd beggar chucklin to hissen, “an aw hooap yo dooant indulge i’ smookin or snufftakkin?”

“Aw do smook a little, sir, but varry little.”

“Then, ov cooarse as its soa little, yo willn’t object to give it up in order to win Mabel’s hand?”

Poor Sydney, he’d nobbut had three cigars that mornin, an he wor fair deein to get aght an have a smook, but ther didn’t seem noa escape, soa wi a sigh, he sed:—­“Varry weel, sir, aw’ll give it up.”

Owd Mothersdale grinned, an thowt ha nicely he wor payin him off for th’ neet befoor, then he shoved a sheet o’ paper across th’ table, an Sydney wrote on it that he promised nivver to smook no mooar wol th’ owd chap consented.