Well, theer wor nowt said, except summat about advertisin' for
disappeared folk, but later on, one o' t' men, a young man, come to me,
private like. 'I say, Pickard,' he says, 'between you an' me, worrn't t'
name o' that man 'at used to come in here on a Sunday sometimes,
Parrawhite? It runs a' my mind,' he says, ''at I've heerd you call him
by that name.' 'Well, an' what if it wor?' I says. 'Nay, nowt much,' he
says, 'but I see fro' t' _Dispatch_ 'at he's wanted, and I could tell a
bit about him,' he says. 'What could ye tell?' says I--just like that
theer. 'Why,' he says, 'this much--one night t' last back-end----'"
"Stop a bit, Mr. Pickard," interrupted Byner. "What does that mean--that
term 'back-end'?"
"Why, it means t' end o' t' year!" answered the landlord. "What some
folks call autumn, d'ye understand? 'One night t' last back-end,' says
this young fellow, 'I wor hengin' about on t' quiet at t' end o' Stubbs'
Lane,' he says: 'T' truth wor,' he says, 'I wor waitin' for a word wi' a
young woman 'at lives i' that terrace at t' top o' Stubbs' Lane--she wor
goin' to come out and meet me for half an hour or so. An,' he says, 'I
see'd that theer feller 'at I think I've heerd you call Parrawhite, come
out o' Stubbs' Lane wi' that lawyer chap 'at lives i' t' Terrace--Pratt.
I know Pratt,' he says, ''cause them 'at he works for--Eldricks--once
did a bit o' law business for me.
Pages:
195
196
197
198
199
200
201
202
203
204
205
206
207
208
209
210
211
212
213
214
215
216
217
218
219