Classici Stranieri

A collier’s kitchen–not poor. Windsor chairs, deal table, dresser of painted wood, sofa covered with red cotton stuff. Time: About half-past two of a winter’s afternoon.

A large, stoutish woman of sixty-five, with smooth black hair parted down the middle of her head: MRS GASCOIGNE.

Enter a young man, about twenty-six, dark, good-looking; has his right arm in a sling; does not take off cap: JOE GASCOIGNE.

MRS GASCOIGNE: Well, I s’d ha’ thought thy belly ‘ud a browt thee whoam afore this.

JOE sits on sofa without answering.

Doesn’t ter want no dinner?

JOE (looking up): I want it if the’ is ony.

MRS GASCOIGNE: An’ if the’ isna, tha can go be out? Tha talks large, my fine jockey! (She puts a newspaper on the table; on it a plate and his dinner.) Wheer dost reckon ter’s bin?

JOE: I’ve bin ter th’ office for my munny.

MRS GASCOIGNE: Tha’s niver bin a’ this while at th’ office.

JOE: They kep’ me ower an hour, an’ then gen me nowt.

MRS GASCOIGNE: Gen thee nowt! Why, how do they ma’e that out? It’s a wik sin’ tha got hurt, an’ if a man wi’ a broken arm canna ha’ his fourteen shillin’ a week accident pay, who can, I s’d like to know?

JOE: They’ll gie me nowt, whether or not.

MRS GASCOIGNE: An’ for why, prithee?

JOE (does not answer for some time; then, sullenly): They reckon I niver got it while I wor at work.

MRS GASCOIGNE: Then where did ter get it, might I ax? I’d think they’d like to lay it onto me.

JOE: Tha talks like a fool, Mother.

MRS GASCOIGNE: Tha looks like one, me lad.

https://www.classicistranieri.com/au/ebooks04/0400871h.html