Bettesworth has a gift for repartee, generally exercised in defence of his class. Years ago, when he was working at Summerfield for Mr. Maitland, that old gentleman strolled up and began grumbling about a boy who had displeased him.

“‘How very seldom 'tis as you comes across a good boy,’ he says. I looked up, ‘Ay, or a bad old man,’ I says. He walked off an' never said another word. But Steve Poulter, what was at work 'long o' me, he says, 'I shouldn't ha' said that if I'd ha' bin you, Fred. You've bin an' upset 'n.' 'I don't care if I 'ave,' I says. 'If I thinks of a thing I must say it.'”

And so one Sunday morning, being in the humour for saying what he thought, as well as for doing what he liked, Bettesworth was “huckin' about” in his garden when the curate passed by from church.

“He stopped an' he says, 'Bettesworth, I wish this 'ere Sunday work was done away with altogether.' I looked at 'n an' I says, ' Well, sir,' I says, 'if it was, I dunno what in the world 'd become o' you.' He went off, an' my neighbour what was standin' near by says, 'You fitted 'n that time, Freddy, 'bout as tight as ever I see.' Well, and I was right. He only works Sundays.”