text_original: "Arter all," said the Tinker, "there's no branch o' the perfession so safe as yours, Ginger. The law is favourable to you, and the beaks is afeerd to touch you. I think I shall turn dog fancier myself."
text_transcription: AFTER ALL SAID THE TINKER THERE'S NO BRANCH OF THE PROFESSION SO SAFE AS YOURS GINGER THE LAW IS FAVOURABLE TO YOU AND THE BIGS HAS A FEARED TO TOUCH YOU I'LL THINK I SHALL TURN DOG FANCY ON MYSELF
phonemes: "ˈɑːɹɾɚɹ ˈɔːl," sˈɛd ðə tˈɪŋkɚ, "ðɛɹz nˈoʊ bɹˈæntʃ ˈoʊ ðə pɜːfˈɛʃən sˌoʊ sˈeɪf æz jˈɔːɹz, dʒˈɪndʒɚ. ðə lˈɔː ɪz fˈeɪvɚɹəbəl tə juː, ænd ðə bˈiːks ɪz æfˈɪɹd tə tˈʌtʃ juː. aɪ θˈɪŋk aɪʃˌɐl tˈɜːn dˈɑːɡ fˈænsiɚ maɪsˈɛlf."