Publisher's Synopsis
THAT Tommy Towman's a meàst serious leear-an', like o' leears, he's a desper't feùl. By jing! if I hed a dog hoaf as daft I wad hang't, that wad I! He gits doon aboot Cockerm'uth an' Wurki'ton, noo's an' than's; an' sum gentlemen theear, they tak' him inta t' Globe or t' Green Draggin, an' just for nowte at o' else but acoase they think he kens me, they feed him wid drink an' they hod him i' toak till he can hardly tell whedder end on him's upbank; an' than they dro' him on to tell them o' mak's o' teàls-o' mak's but true an's-aboot me; an' t' pooar lal gowk hesn't gumption aneuf to see 'at they're no'but makin' ghem on him. But, loavin' surs! if he'd hed t' sense of a gurse ga'n gezlin he wad niver ha' browte oot sec a lafter o' lees as he's gitten yan o' them Wurki'ton gentlemen (yan 'at ken's weel hoo to write doon oor heàmly toke) to put inta prent; an' what mak's yan madder nor o' t' rest, -to put them i' prent just as if I'd tel't them me-sel'. I's nut t' chap to try to cum ower an oald jolly jist wid whinin' oot "Fadder's deid!" when ivery body kens 'at fadder's whicker nor meàst on us. My sarty! he's nin o' t' deein' mak' isn't fadder.
