Sir Timothy, straight as a dart, without overcoat or any covering to his thin evening clothes, looked like a stripling in front of him.
"I'm whippin' 'er, if yer want to know," was the carter's reply.

"I've got to get up the 'ill, 'aven't I?
Garn and mind yer own business!" "This is my business," Sir Timothy declared, laying his hand upon the neck of the horse.

"I am an official of the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals.

You are laying yourself open to a fine for your treatment of this poor brute." "I'll lay myself open for a fine for the treatment of something else, if you don't quid 'old of my 'oss," the carter retorted, throwing his whip back into the waggon and coming a step nearer.

"D'yer 'ear?
I don't want any swells interferin' with my business.