a for mi hat an coit,"
sed Bob, "an dunnot freeat."

Angelina lapt it carefully up, an sat daan to have a gooid cry, an Bob
coom rushin daan, feeard he'd be lat, tuckt th' bundle under his arm an
set off intendin to drop it into th' furst ashpit he coom to.

He passed monny a one, but ther wor allus somdy abaat, an he couldn't
get a chonce o' gettin shut on it, an he wor foorced to tak it to th'
office wi him. This didn't trubble him varry mich, for he'd allus a hawf
an haar for his lunch at twelve o'clock, soa he detarmined he'd dispooas
on it then, an i'th meantime, he put it in a cubboard i'th office, whear
it wodn't be seen.

It seem'd to Bob at moor fowk went to th' cubboard that mornin nor had
ivver been to it befoor.

"Its time this cubboard had a clean aght," sed th' manager as he wor
huntin for a book, "it smells like a vault."

Bob tremeld, but all passed off safely. Twenty times during that mornin
he wor put in a sweeat wi' furst one an another, but twelve o'clock coom
at last, an waitin till tother clarks had gooan, he grabbed his parcel,
an jumpt in th' furst tramcar he saw,--luckily ther wor nobbut one man
inside an he wor readin a paper,--soa puttin his parcel i'th opposite
corner, he jumpt off at the next stoppin place. He started off at full
speed an wor just beginnin to smile at his own clivverness, when somdy
shaated.

"Hi! Hi, thear!" an turning to luk, he saw a man rushin towards him
holdin his parcel.

"You forgot your parcel, young man," he said, puffin an blowin, "it was
lucky I happened to see it!"

Bob sed "thank yo" as weel as he could, an then sed summat else, which
aw willn't repeat, an tuckin it under his arm, he went to th' place
whear he usually gat his breead an cheese an his glass o' bitter.

He sat in a quiet corner, an one bi one th' customers went aght, an
thinkin he saw a favourable chonce, he put his bundle on th' seeat, and
threw a newspaper carelessly ovver it, supt up--an when he thowt nubdy
wor lukkin he quietly left it an wor sooin back in his office, feelin
wonderfully relieved. But he hadn't seen th' last on it even then.

All wor quiet except for th' scratchin o' pens, for th' maister wor
sittin at his private desk, when a redheeaded lad,--Bob thowt he wor th'
ugliest lad he'd ivver seen in his life,--coom in grinnin, an sydlin up
to him, an holdin th' parcel at arms length, as if he wor feeared o'
bein bitten, he sed, "th' lanlord o'th 'Slip Inn' has sent this,