o git the right sow by the ear----no sooner do i
see 'em a comin vith their kids, than i slips of and doffs my tile, an i
says, says i----do let the yung jentlum have a cast----and then the
little in coorse begins a plegyin the old 'uns, and----so the jobs done!

----vot's to pay, my good man? says she

----oh----nothink, marm, says i, as modest as a turnip new-peeld----napps
is a rig'lar racer----i dont let im hout but i'm so fond o' children!

----this here Yummeree doos the bisnis prime, for the vimmen comes over
the jentlum and a pus is made up for anuther race----and in coorse i
pockits the Bibs----cos vy?----napps is nothink but a good 'un.

'tother day hearin as there vos an hunt in the naborwood:----napps, says
i-a----speakin to my ass----napps ve'll jist go and look at 'em----

----vell ve hadnt got no more nor a mile wen i comes slap alongside of a
starch-up chap upatop of raythur a good lookin' oss.----but my i! vornt
there bellows to mend; and he made no more vay nor a duck in a
gutter.----i says, sir, says i, dye think ve shall be in time for the
hunt? but he never turns is hed but sets bolt uprite as stiff as
pitch----jist for all the world as if his mother had vashed im in starch.

----i twigs his lean in a jiffy----so i says says i "oh-you needn't be so
shy i rides my own hannimal,"----

----vich i takes it vos more nor he co'd say, for his vas nothin more nor
a borrod'un and if i dont mistake he vos a vitechapler----i think ive
seed im a sarvin out svipes and blue ruin at the gin-spinners corner o'
summerset street or petticut lane----dunno witch.

----sam, i hates pride so i cuts his cumpny----i says says i----napps it
dont fit you aint a nunter you're o'ny a racer and that chaps afeard his
prad vill be spiled a keeping conapny with a ass----leastways i'm o' the
same opinyon in that respec consarning meself and----so i shall mizzle.

----a true gintlum as is a gintlum, sam is as difrent to these here
stuck-up fellers az a sovrin is to a coronashun copper vot's on'y gilt.

vell lie turns hof over the left and vips up his animal tryin to get up a
trot----bobbin up and down in his sturrups and bumpin hisself to make a
show----all flummery!----he takes the middel o' the field to hisself, and
i cox my i for a houtlet and spi's a gait----that's the ticket! says i;
so liting the 'bacca and blowin a cloud I trots along, and had jist cum
to the gait ven turnin' round to look for the gin-spinner, blow m