At about 'alf past ten in the mornin' of march tenf I'm floggin' greens as per usual when I 'ears this flippin' squealin'
"Shurr up!" I says to the trouble, "or I'll motorway yer in the norf!"
"Don't give me yer sailin'!" she says, "or I'll Fleetwood yer minces!
Besides," she says, "I never oranged. It's this little Scrooge 'ere!"
So I takes a boatman's in the Jack and sees the little feller.
"Whatcha want?" I says.
"T-t-t-t-two pounds of p-p-p-p-potatoes," 'e says. So I finds a two-pounder amoung the King Edwards and I says:
"Howzat?" At that 'e jumps about six feet in the air an' disappears inside a brown paper bag.
"It's a nice pertater!" I says "Come out an' make friends."
Would 'e come out? No chance! in the end, the trouble 'ad a bright idea.
We gets 'is address, writes it on the bag, sticks a slopin' on it an' gives it to the errand boy ter post.

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