Yorksher Puddin'. John Hartley
stairs to neet, an' a grand ball ta finish off wi'?"
"Noa, ther's niver noabdy tells me owt," says Tom.
"Well, aw thowt tha knew all abaght it—its to be a furst rate doo; tickets to be a shillin a piece, an' them 'at taks two con have' em for one an' ninepence; an' we're gooin to have a peanner, for tha knaws noa beershop's thowt respectable nah, unless ther's a peanner i' th' chamer an' an ale pump i'th' bar, soa as aw dooan't want to be behund other fowk, aw've borrowed one ov a musichener 'at keeps a shop, an' a grand un it is as iver tha clapt thi een on."
"What is it made on?" says Tom.
"Aw dooan't knaw reightly, but aw think its awther mogny or wallmuck—aw forget whether; but there it is. Luk! Sithee!" he sed, runnin to th' winder, "come help us to get it in."
They booath ran aght to help th' lads at bad browt it, to get it off th' spring cart, an' they varry sooin had it inside. As sooin as Tom an' th' landlord wor left to thersen, they began to try to get it upstairs; but they'd a job; they gat it up a step or two, an' thear it stuck.
"Nah, then!" sed Tom, for he wor at th' top side, "nab then, lift! howd on! lift! lift! howd on! lift! What th' shames are ta dooin?"
"Aw'm liftin," sed th' landlord, "what should aw be dooin, thinks ta?"
"Well, try agean," says Tom, "nah then, lift! lift! Oh-h-h! Howd on! what the hangmit are ta doin?"
"What's up?" says th' landlord.
"Can't ta see, lumpheead! tha's ommost brokken mi fingers ageean that step!"
"Tha should keep thi fingers aght o'th' gate, an' then they willn't get brokken."
"If tha doesn't mind what tha'rt saying, aw 'll pitch booath thee an' it to th' botham; an' it will ha' to goa thear yet, for it'll niver come up this way. They must be fooils 'at mak stuff ta big ta get up th' steps. Aw once made a mangel 'at aw could tak up steps hauf this width."
"Well, its net gooin up, that's plain enuff, Tom, soa what mun we do nah?"
"We mun get it back, an' try to pull it in 'at th' charner winder, but we shall want a stee."
"Oh, we can sooin get that," says th' landlord, "just thee stop an' see 'at noabdy touches it, an' aw'll goa borrow one."
Off he went, an' wor sooin back wi' th' stee; an' they reared it up agean th' charner winder an' teed a roap raand th' middle o'th' peanner, an' wol th' landlord went up th' stairs to pool, Tom stopt daan to put it on an' shove, an' it began to goa up varry nicely, an' Tom followed to steady it. When it had getten abaght hauf way, th' stee began to bend a gooid bit. "Steady fair," says th' landlord, "tha munnot come ony farther, Tom: if tha does, it'll smash! Aw think awst be able to manage nah." Soa Tom went back, an' th' landlord kept poolin it up a bit at a time. As it kept gooin up an' up, it kept gettin a bit moor to one side. "Ha is it nah, Tom?"
"Oh, its all serene—th' centre o' gravitum's all reight up to nah," says Tom.
Up it went—little an' little—an' ivery time it stirr'd it gat a bit moor off th' edge, an' just as he'd getten it to th' winder bottom, ovver it went an' daan it fell wi' a crash an' a buzz, like a volley o' donce music shot aght ov a cannon, an' aght coom all th' neighbors to see what wor up.
An' it did luk a seet, reight enuff. Th' top had flown off, an' one leg stuck aght one way an tother stuck aght another. It wodn't ha' luk'd hauf as ill if it had been an owd deal box o' some sooart; but a grand mogny peanner—it luk'd just awful, Its like a druffen chap 'ats dressed i' black cloath—he allus luks war nor one 'ats dress'd i' fushten.
"Well, what's to be done nah?" says th' landlord, when he'd getten daan ta Tom agean, "tha reckons to knaw a bit o' summat abaght music, doesn't ta? What mun wi' do wi' this lot?"
"Well," says Tom, "aw've put a hanel or two on to a box organ an' polished a flute or two i' mi time, soa aw owt to knaw summat, but aw've niver had owt to do wi' peanners; but aw dar say if we had it inside, aw could do a bit o' summat wi' it."
"We can easy manage that," said th' landlord, "for we can tak it up i' numbers!"
In a short time they had it carried up an' put together, but what bothered Tom wor, all th' strings wor in a lump, for th' wood 'at they wor screw'd to had brokken lawse an' tumelled into th' bottom.
"Nah, if we could nobbut get this wood wi' all thease pegs in, an' all thease wires fesend to it, lifted up into th' reight spot, aw think ther'd be a chonce o' gettin some mewsic aght on it—soa seize hold an' lift," said Tom. An' they did lift I for they lifted th' peanner clean off th' floor.
"A'a dear! this'll never do," says Tom, "aw niver saw ony body frame wor i' mi life; we mun ha' somdy to sit on it to hold it daan. Connot th' mistress spare time, thinks ta? Shoo's a tidy weight.
"Sally, come here!" shaated aght th' landlord, an' shoo wor up in a minit. "Nah, we want thee to sit daan o' this article wol we lift."
"What, sit me daan o'th' kays, does ta mean? Tha doesn't think at aw con play, does ta lad?"
"Sit thee daan! says th' landlord, varry cross; tha's noa need to be feeard o' been blown up—its nooan a wind instrument."
Shoo set daan, tho' shoo didn't seem mich to like it, an after a gooid deal o' tuggin an' poolin, th' chaps managed to get it up within abaght an inch o' whear it had been befoor.
"Thear!" said Tom, "that begins to luk moor like summat." "Eea, it does," says th' landlord, "aw shouldn't be daan abaght makin a peanner after this; but if aw did mak one, aw'd mak one 'at wodn't braik wi' fallin an odd stoory. Aw dooant think him aw borrowed it on 'll be able to find owt aght."
"Well, aw dooant knaw," says Tom, "aw'm th' fastest what to do wi' thease thingams 'at waggles abaght soa; tha sees they owt to hit thease wires, but they're all too long someha."
"Why, doesn't ta think 'at tha could shorten 'em a bit? It luks to me as if it 'll do if them gets shortened, Sally! get up! Are ta baan to sit thear all th' day? Go an' borrow yond butcher's saig, an' then Tom can cut thease foldedols."
Sally went an' left' em booath starin at th' music box, as shoo called it, an' when shoo'd gooan th' landlord walked raand it two or three times, an' then stoppin i' front o' Tom, he said, "Well, Tom, aw allus thowt 'at tha wor fond o' tinklin at all sooarts o' jobs, but aw didn't gie thee credit for being able to do owt like this."
"Why, yo' see, maister, its born i' some fowk,' replied Tom. "Nah when aw wor a lad aw once made a tin whistle aght ov a brass canel-stick, an' they could ha' played on it too, but it tuk sich a deal o' wind, but ther wor a chap 'at used to come to awr haase 'at blew it mony a time."
"Tha doesn't say soa! A'a, what a thing it is to be born wi' sich a heead as thine; aw wonder tha doesn't crack thi brain wi' studdyin soa mich abaght things. Aw've thowt mony a time when aw've heeard fowk tawk abaght thee 'at its a thaasand pities thi mother hadn't twins."
"Why," said Tom, "aw think sometimes 'at if aw'd been edicated aw should happen a capt somdy; but that's Sally's fooit, aw think."
Sally browt th' saig, an' after a gooid deal o' squarin abaght, Tom said "Aw think th' best plan 'll be to cut th' lot off to start wi', an' then we can mak 'em what length we want 'em."
"Suit thi sen, tha owt to knaw," said th' landlord, an' Tom began to saig away. He'd getten th' hauf on 'em cut, when up comes th' chap at they'd borrowed it on. "I understand you've had an accident," he said, "but I hope its not much worse?"
"Well, it has getten a bit ov a shake," says Tom, "but aw think we'll be able to mak it all square agean in a bit."
"Why, my dear fellow, what are you doing? You are destroying the whole affair—you are cutting the action!"
"Action! What action? What does ta mean?" says Tom.
"Why, you are cutting the working part all to pieces!"
"Warkin pairt! Aw'm dooin nowt o' th' sooart—its th' playing pairt 'at aw'm cuttin; but if aw ammot