Th'
singers fell out wi' th' players. They mostly dun do. An' th' players
did everything they could to plague th' singers. They're so like. But
yo' may have a like aim, Nanny, what mak' o' harmony they'd get out o'
sich wark as that. An' then, when Joss o' Piper's geet his wage
raise't--five shillin' a year--Dick o' Liddy's said he'd ha' moor too,
or else he'd sing no moor at that shop. He're noan beawn to be snape't
wi' a tootlin' whipper-snapper like Joss,--a bit of a bow-legged whelp,
twenty year yunger nor his-sel. Then there wur a crack coom i' Billy
Tootle bassoon; an' Billy stuck to't that some o'th lot had done it for
spite. An' there were sich fratchin an' cabals among 'em as never wur
known. An' they natter't, and brawl't, an' back-bote; and played one
another o' maks o' ill-contrive't tricks. Well, yo' may guess, Nanny--
"One Sunday mornin', just afore th' sarvice began, some o' th' singers
slipt a hawp'oth o' grey peighs an' two young rattons into old Thwittler
double-bass; an' as soon as he began a-playin', th' little things
squeak't an' scutter't about terribly i' th' inside, till thrut o' out
o' tune. Th' singers couldn't get forrud for laughin'.
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