Yorkshire Tales Volume III Part 8

"Eah!" sed Sydney, showin a cigar at he'd leeted not a minnit befooar.

"Aw insist on yor puttin it aght instantly," sed th' owd feller.

Sydney wornt used to bein ordered abaat like this, soa he sed:

"Oh, yo insist on it, do yo, owd buffer, but suppooas aw dooant put it aght, what then?"

"But you shall put it aght, an at once too," he went on, gettin varry red i' th' face, "do yo think at aw shall submit to be poisoned wi yor vile, disgustin tobacca smook? sich men as yo should ride in a cattle truck or a dog box--tho' if yo wor in there yo'd be taichin th' cawves an puppies bad habbits--Owd buffer, indeed! I'll have yo fined, sir."

"Nah dooan't yo get raggy," sed Sydney, poolin aght his cigar case, an leetin another; "if aw have to be fined aw mud as weel have summat for my bra.s.s," an he moved an sat on a seat in front o'th owd chap, an puffed aght o' both cigars as fast as he could, wol he made sich a reek i'th hoil at th' lamp up aboon lukk'd like a full mooin on a misty neet.

"Awm a director on this line," th' owd beggar gasped, "an aw insist on yor desistin the smookin at once, sir."

"A director are yo? awm fain to see yo, aw've often wanted to ax one o'

ye gentry ha it is at th' trains is soa unpunctual on this line?"

Th' owd chap jumped up an run to th' winder, an let it daan, an started tryin to find th' cord to stop th' train, but bi gooid luck he'd getten to th' wrang side o'th carriage, an while he wor botherin to find th'

rope, Sydney opened th' t'other winder an stuck one o'th' slips wi "Smookin" on it, on th' aghtside oth' pane, an then he sed:

"Aw insist on yo closin that winder, sir, th' draught annoys me, as aw've getten a bad cowd."

Haivver th' owd chap wodn't shut it, he kept his heead aght an cought, an it worn't till he catched seet o' Sydney sharpenin a gurt jack-knife on his booit, at he wor flayed into cloisin it. Nah it soa happened at only that varry afternooin, th' owd feller had been readin ith' paper, abaat a man havin escaped throo a mad haase somwhear or other, an it struck him at Sydney must be th' varry chap, soa he wor in sich a funk 'at he didn't know whativver to do, but he thowt th' best thing wod be to keep as still as he could, an not vex Sydney, soa he sat daan as quiet as owt an sed nowt.

"Are yo fond o' mewsic?" Sydney axt.

"Varry," sed th' owd chap.

Soa Sydney started wavin his jack knife abaat, an bellowin a song aght o' tune, abaat Buffalo Bill, an huntin buffalos in th' wilds o'

Kensington, an he stuck a verse in abaat scalpin Railway directors. In th' meeantime th' train wor gooin along at a gooid rattle, for they wor lat, an th' driver wor makkin up time, soa th' carriage started o'

swingin a bit. Th' owd feller thowt he mud say summat to try an mak Sydney forget abaat scalpin directors, soa he sed:

"Dooant yo think this trains gooin quickly, sir?"

"Aw wish it wod goa twenty times faster, aw wish it wod goa a thaasand times faster," sed Sydney, wavin his arms abaat, "aw wish it wod goa bang into another train an smash this carriage all inter smithereens."

"Why, if it did yo'd be killed!"

"Awd dee gladly ony day," Sydney answered, "if aw could only know at a Director wor killed too."

An soa they went on, Sydney dooin all kind o' mad things, he even insisted on th' Director smookin three whiffs ov a cigar; but at last, like ivverything i' this world, th' journey coom to an end, an they glided into th' station at Brummagem.

As sooin as ivver th' train stopt, th' Director jumpt aght, an called for a porter, "Get that gentleman's name," he sed, "he's been smookin in this carriage."

Sydney wor sittin quite calmly, wi' hawf a cigar in his maath, an th'

porter sed,--

"Have yo been smookin, sir?"

"Ov coorse aw have, cannot yo see mi cigar, this is a smookin carriage, luk thear"--an he pointed to th' label on th' winder.

Th' porter couldn't do anything when he seed that, but th' Director sent for th' stashun maister, an made an awful s.h.i.+ndy; he sed 'at Sydney wor mad, an ha he'd threatened him wi' a knife, an aw dooant know what beside--but Sydney wor soa polite, an whispered to th' Stashun maister, "at he thowt th' owd feller had had too mich to sup, for he'd been smookin hissen as they could easy find aght if they smell'd his breeath."

Soa th' Stashun maister sed he couldn't do owt, as it wor a smookin carriage, soa Sydney wor allowed to goa to th' Hotel, leeavin 'em to feight it aght as they liked.

Th' last thing he thowt ov that neet befooar he fell asleep wor, ha Mabel wod laugh next day when he telled her abaat it.

Next mornin when he'd had his braikfast, he donned hissen up smart as a chap owt to do when he's gooin a cooartin, an set off in a cab to Mabel's father's haase.

Th' la.s.s wor lukkin aght for him, an after a bit o' kussin an huggin (as is suitable at sich times) Sydney sed he mud as weel see her father an get it ovver.

"He's in th' library," sed Mabel.

"Nah for it," Sydney sed, as they stood aghtside th' door, "gie me another kuss, la.s.s, to keep me up to th' mark, an eh! aw've sich a joke to tell thi abaat afterwards."

Mabel kussed him ageean, an then shoo oppen'd th' door an walked in, wi Sydney followin behund feelin varry unc.u.mfortable, for its noa joke aw can tell yo axin an owd gentleman to gie yo his dowter.

Mister Mothersdale wor sittin at a table, writin a letter, when they went in an he didn't luk up till Mabel sed:--"Papa, dear, this is Mister Horne, th' gentleman I told yo abaat, who protected me from that ruffian i' Sheffield, who tried to rob me."

He lukked up, and Sydney felt like to sink into his booits, for if it worn't th' varry owd chap at he'd travelled in th' train wi' th' neet befooar.

Nah tho' Sydney knew th' owd chap in a crack, by gooid luck Mabel's father hadn't his gla.s.ses on, soa he didn't mak him aght at furst.

"Awm varry fain to mak yor acquaintance, sir," he sed, "my dowter has towd me ha kind yo wor i' Sheffield, an aw wish to thank yo for it."

Sydney wor soa flayed ov th' owd feller rememberin his voice, 'at he shoved a hawpny into his maath befooar he spake, an then he sed:--"Aw didn't do much awm sewer, Sir. It wor nowt at all."

"Have aw ivver met yo befooar," Mister Mothersdale axt, "aw seem to know yor voice?"

"Net as aw know on," Sydney answered, feelin at he wor in for a thunderin lot o' lyin.

"Mister Horne's niver been i' Brummagem befooar," Mabel sed.

"It's varry strange," th' owd man went on, as he put his specs on, "aw seem to know yor voice soa weel, an dear-a-me yor face reminds me ov sumdy but aw cannot tell who."

Nah Sydney wor dressed quite different thro what he had th' neet befooar, an while Mabel's father wor puzzlin his heead abaat it, Mabel sed "Aw showed yo a photograph o' Mister Horne, papa, praps that's it?"

"That must be it," Sydney sed, jumpin at th' idea soa sharp, at in spite o'th hawpny he had in his maath, he spoke quite nateral like; an though th' owd feller couldn't believe 'at this nice gradely lukkin young man, could be th' same as th' madman he'd travelled wi' th' neet befooar, th'

idea coom into his heead, an th' moor he lukked, th' moor certain he grew.

"Can yo sing," he axed.

"Awm a varry poor singer," Sydney sed.

"Soa wor th' chap last neet," thowt owd Mothersdale, but Mabel put in, "Oh! Papa he sings as beautifully as Sims Reeves."

"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?"