"Well, you may do as you'm a-minded 'bout 'avin' it," says Mrs. Izod;
"but no more ain't beer what 'twas neether, come to that."

"You'm right there, Missus," says all the rest on us.

An' then Bertie Mayo, 'oo's allus a turr'ble far-seeing sort of chap,
'e says, "Reckon the trolley 'ull be along fust thing i' the marnin'
from the brewery, Missus?" An' when Mrs. Izod 'er says as 'er didn't
know, but 'twas to be 'oped as 'twud, a sort of a blight settled down
on the lot on us, which I reckon is a pretty fair way o' puttin' it,
for a blight allus goes 'and-in-'and wi' a drought.

Well, either us finished that evenin' up on cider or us finished the
cider up that evenin'--there warn't much in it one way or t'other.
An' next day--this bit as I'm a-tellin' you now us niver 'eard tell on
till arterwards, but I'm a-tellin' it _yeou_ just as it 'appened--next
_daay_ (that were Sat'rday, mind) there was a turr'ble to-do in the
arternoon, for there warn't nobbut limonade in the house when them
timber-haulin' chaps stopped to waater the engin'. Well, you may
reckon!...

An' then, when us come 'ome from work, us found the door o' The Bell
shut an' locked, an' "Sold Out" wrote on a piece o' cardboard i' the
parlour winder by Reuben Izod's second child! Begad, that was sommut
if yeou like! Us stud there a-gyaupin' an' a-gyaupin', till at last
Peter Ledbetter give a kick at the door and 'ollers out, "Whatten a
gammit do 'ee call this 'ere, Reuben Izod? 'Tis drink us waants, not
tickets for the Cook'ry Demonstration." (Turr'ble sarcastic 'e do be
sometimes, Peter Ledbetter).