'eerd folk say Sal Horrocks were a slick un wi' 'er
tongue.

SAM (_admiringly_). She were that. Rare talker she were. She'd lie
theer in 'er bed all day as it might be in yon corner, an' call
me all th' names she could put her tongue to, till A couldn't
tell ma reeght 'and from ma left. (_Still reminiscent._) Wonnerful
sperrit, she 'ad, considerin' she were bed-ridden so long. She
were only a little un an' cripple an' all, but by gum, she could
sling it at a feller if 'er tea weren't brewed to 'er taste.
Talk! She'd talk a donkey's yead off, she would.

SARAH (_on her mettle_). An' A'll talk thy silly yead off an' all
if tha doan't get sharp to tellin' me what tha wants after in my
'ouse, tha great mazed idiot.

SAM. Eh, but she were a rare un.

SARAH. The lad's daft aboot his moother.

SAM (_detachedly, looking at window; pause_). Wunnerful breeght the
sky is, to-day.

SARAH. Tha great 'ulkin' fool. A'd tak' a broomstick to thee
if--if A'd the use o' my 'ands.

SAM. Now, if that isn't just what ma moother used to say.

SARAH. Dang thy moother. An' A doan't mean no disrepect to 'er
neither. She's bin in 'er grave this year an' more, poor woman.

SAM. A canna 'elp thinkin' to 'er all same. Eh, but she were
wunnerful.

SARAH. An' A'd be wunnerful too. A'd talk to thee. A'd call thee
if A were thy moother an' A'd to live aside o' thee neeght an'
day.

SAM (_eagerly_). Eh, by gum, but A wish tha would.

SARAH. Would what?

SAM. Would coom an' live along wi' me.

SARAH. Tha great fool, what does mean? Art askin' me to wed thee?

SAM. A didn't mean to offend thee, Mrs. Ormerod. A'm sorry A
spoke. A allays do wrong thing. But A did so 'ope as tha might
coom. Tha sees A got used to moother. A got used to 'earin' 'er
cuss me. A got used to doin' for 'er an' A've nought to do in th'
evenings now. It's terrible lonesome in th' neeghttime. An' when
notion coom to me, A thowt as A'd mention un to thee casual.

SARAH. Dost mean it, Sam Horrocks? Dost tha know what tha's
sayin', or is tha foolin' me?

SAM. O' course A mean it. Tha sees A'm not a marryin' sort. Th'
lasses won't look at me. A'm silly Sam to them, A knaws it. A've
a slate loose; A shan't never get wed. A thowt A'd mebbe a chance
wi' yon lass as were 'ere wi' thee, but hoo towld me A were too
late. A allays were slow. A left askin' too long an' A 've missed
'er. A gets good money, Mrs. Ormerod, but A canna talk to a young
wench. They mak's me go