"I aren't got none," says Reuben from be'ind the door.

"Well, cider, then," says Bertie Mayo.

"Tall 'ee I aren't got narrun--beer, cider, nor limonade--nary a drop.
'Tiddn' no manner o' good for you chaps to stan' there. You'd best
toddle along up to The Green Dragon an' see if Mas'r Holtom've got
any."

Well, bein' as no one iver yet 'eard tell o' one publican tellin'
ye to go furder a-fild and get sarved by another publican (savin'
as 'twas a drunken man as 'e wanted to be shut on), us was struck so
dazed-like as us went along the road wi' never a word. But us 'adn't
got 'alfway theer afore us met Johnnie Tarplett, Jim Peyton, and a
lot more on 'em all comin' along the road towards we.

"Where be gwain'?" says Johnnie Tarplett.

"Us be gwain' along to The Green Dragon to get a drop o' drink," says
Tom Figgures.

"The Green Dragon's shut 'owever," says Johnnie Tarplett. "Us was
a-gwain' along--"

"Aye, aye!" us sings out. "So's The Bell shut too!"

Well, then us all took and went along to The Reaper, an' _that_ were
shut, an' The Dovedale Arms (which is an oncomfortably superior sort
of a 'ouse, dealin' in sperrits) was down to ginger-wine, an' The
Crown and The Corner Cupboard an' The Ploughman's Rest was all crowded