"Aye, that's it. A client o' his 'at he'd gate out o' a pertickler tight fix gay' him a whole piece o' yaller cloath, an' he's wearin' it aat i' breeches. Ne'er wears onny other sort, Sunday or warkday. They seyn hauf th' rogues i' Lancasheer 'at's walkin' th' streets to-day 'ud ha' bin i' Towzer (jail) but for him." "That's a doubtful sort of compliment," I observed. "Doubtful fiddlesticks," quoth Jim. "If yo' want to clean a chimbley yo' don't get a lace hankercher to it, dun yo'? It's th' same wi' law, aw tak' it. Yaller Breeches is th' man for yo'r brass, aw tell yo', an' seem' as to-morn's a short day, aw'm agreeable to start wi' yo' to walk to Manchester afore th' sun's up, an' we'st be theer bi th' time he's dahn to his office." "How shall we find it?" "Ax th' first bobby we meet, yo' silly." "Why not take the coach?" "Coach, says ta? What's legs for, aw sud like to know, an' it nobbut a matter o' thirty mile fro' here to Manchester an' back. Why, aw knew a felly, a higgler he were, 'at used to walk sixty mile a day an' go coortin' at after. Aw'm thinkin', Abe, tha's getten some biggish notions i' thi yead o' late. Fingerin' that brass o' owd Garside's gi'en thee a touch o' what, wi'out offence, aw'll tak' leave to ca' swelled yead. If we'n to mak' Mitchell Mill go there'll be no coaches for other thee nor me this monny a day. Look at owd Bamforth o' Slowit yonder, as warm a man as yo'd find i' these pearts, an him nowt but a han'-loom weiver to start wi. Did he do it on coaches, thinkst ta? Not he, bi gow. He telled me hissen. He used to stan' Newcastle an' Macclesfield markets wi' his cloath. He sent th' piece on bi th' carrier. He'd ha' hugged 'em if he could; but even a Doady has his limits." "A Doady?" "Yo' know all them parts is called Doady Land. So he sent th' pieces on by th' carrier, an' for hissen just took Shank's mare. Yo' can reckon for yersen what a poo' he had ovver clothiers 'at went bi th' coach an' had to put th' coach fare on to th' price o' their pieces. An' it isn't th' coach fare only. Yo'n to stop here for brekfus', an' theer for dinner, an' theer agen for supper an' them big coachin'-houses know how to charge for their victuals, aw reckon. Then there's tips to th' ostler, an th' waiters, an' th' booits, an' th' chambermaids--to say nowt o' th' drinkin'. But owd Bamforth used to put a big apple pasty 'at their Sarah made for him up his weskit, an' rare and warm it kept him i' cowd weather, an' he's ca' at a farmhouse on th' road an' get a pint o' milk for a penny, or mebbe for th' axin'--an' theer he were. Coach, indeed! Do yo' think aw'n gi'en up ale an' denied missen all th' little bit o' pleasure aw ivver had just to throw mi brass away on coaches? No, Abe, lad, we'st fooit it, every inch on it, an' don't yo' forget it."