A savage retort was on his tongue, but Mrs Yabsley stepped in.
"Well, Joe, now I see yer dead set on earnin' a livin', I don't mind tellin' yer I've got somethin' up me sleeve.

No, I don't mean a guinea-pig an' a dozen eggs, like the conjurer bloke I see once," she explained in reply to his surprised look; "but if yer the man I take yer for, we'll soon 'ave the pot a-boiling.

Many's the weary night I've spent in bed thinkin' about you w'en I might 'ave bin snorin'.
That reminds me.

Did y'ever notice yer can niver tell exactly w'en yer drop off?
I've tried all I know, but ye're awake one minit, an' chasin' a butterfly wi' a cow's 'ead the next.

But that ain't wot I'm a-talkin' about.