Digger Smith by Clarence James Dennis (a book to read .TXT) 📕

Flood she takes 'er Sund'y dress
An' 'er best little bonnet up to town.
'Er game's to see the girl at this address
An' word 'er in regard to comin' down
To take Smith be su'prise. My part's to fix
A meetin' so there won't be any mix.

I tips, some'ow, that girl won't 'esitate.
She don't. She comes right back with Mar nex' day,
All uv a fluster. When I seen 'er state
I thinks I'd best see Digger straight away;
'Cos, if I don't, 'e's bound to 'ear the row,
With 'er: "Where is 'e? Can't I see 'im now?"

I finds 'im in the paddick down at Flood's.
I 'ums an' 'ars a bit about the crops.
'E don't say nothin': goes on baggin' spuds.
"'Ow would yeh like," I sez to 'im, an' stops.
"'Ow would it be" . . . 'E stands an' looks at me
"Now, wot the 'Ell's got into you?" sez 'e.

That don't restore me confidence a bit.
The drarmer isn't goin' as I tipped.
I corfs, an' makes another shot at it;
While 'e looks at me like 'e thinks I'm dipped.
"Well--jist suppose," I sez; an' then I turn
An' see 'er standin' there among the fern.

She don't want no prelimin'ries, this tart;
She's broke away before they rung the bell;
She's beat the gun, an' got a flyin' start.
Smith makes a funny noise, an' I sez, "'Ell"
Because I tumbles that I'm out uv place:
But, as I went, I caught sight uv 'er face.

That's all I want to know. An', as I ran,
I 'ears 'er cry, "My man! Man an' a 'arf!
Don't fool me with yer talk uv 'arf a man!". . . .
An' then I 'ears ole Digger start to larf.
It was a funny larf, so 'elp me bob:
Fair in the middle uv it come a sob. . . .

I don't see Digger till the other night.
"Well, 'Arf-a-man," I sez. "'Ow goes it now?"
"Yes, 'arf a man," sez 'e. "Yeh got it right;
I can't change that, alone, not any'ow.
But she is mendin' things." 'E starts to larf.
"Some day," 'e sez, "she'll be the better 'arf."



XI. SAWIN' WOOD


Sawin' Wood


I WONDERED wot was doin'. First I seen
Ole Missus Flood wave signals to Doreen.
I'm in the paddick slashin' down some ferns;
She's comin' up the road; an' if she turns
An 'andspring I won't be su'prised a bit,
The way she's caperin', an' goin' it.

She yells out some remark when she gets near,
Which I don't catch, I'm too fur off to 'ear.
An' then Doreen comes prancin' to our door,
An' Missus Flood she sprints, an' yells some more;
My wife runs to the gate an' waves 'er arms. . . .
But I lays low; I'm used to these alarms.

A marri'd bloke, in time, 'e learns a bit;
An' 'e ain't over keen to throw a fit
Each time the women calls the fire-reel out.
It's jist a trifle 'e'll know all about
When things get normal. That's a point I learn;
So I saws wood, an' keeps on cuttin' fern.

At least, I cut a few. I got to give
Reel fac's, an' own I was inquisitive;
An' these 'ere fireworks gets me fair perplexed.
I watch the 'ouse to see wot 'appens next;
But nothin's doin'. They jist goes on in,
An' leaves me wonderin' wot's caused the din.

I stands it for a full 'arf-hour or more;
Then gets dead sick uv starin' at the door.
I goes down to the 'ouse an' 'unts about
To find some 'baccer, which I 'ave no doubt
Is in me trousers pocket all the while.
When I goes in, the talk stops, an' they smile.

I sez I've lost me smoke, an' search a bit,
An' ask Doreen wot 'as became uv it,
An' turns the mantelshelf all upside-down,
An' looks inside the teapot, with a frown;
Then gives it up, an' owns I'd like a drink;
When Missus Flood sez, "Bill, _wot do you think_?"

Now, ain't that like a woman? Spare me days,
I'll never get resigned to all their ways.
When they 'as news to tell they smile, an' wink,
An' bottle it, an' ask yeh wot yeh think.
It's jist a silly game uv theirs, an' so,
I gives the countersign: "Wot? I dunno."

"Then guess," she sez. Well, I'm a patient bloke,
So I sits down an' starts to cut a smoke.
(To play this game yeh've got to persevere.)
"Couldn't," I sez, "if I guessed for a year";
Then lights me pipe, an' waits for 'er to speak.
At last she sez, "_Jim's comin' back next week_!"

"Go on," sez I; an' puffs away awhile
Quite unconcerned. But for to see 'er smile
Was jist a treat: 'er eyes was shinin' bright,
An' she'd grow'd ten years younger in a night.
Jist 'ere, Doreen she sez to me, "Good Lor,
Wot do yeh want _two_ plugs uv 'baccer for?"

I takes me pipe out uv me mouth an' stares,
An' stammers, "Must 'ave found a piece--somewheres."
But, by the way she smiles--so extra sweet--
I know she twigs me game, an' I am beat.
"Fancy," she sez. "Yeh're absent-minded, dear.
Sure there was nothin' else yeh wanted 'ere?"

"Nothin'," I sez, an' feels a first-prize fool;
An' goes outside, an' grabs the nearest tool.
It was the crosscut; so I works like mad
To keep me self-respeck from goin' bad.
"This game," I tells meself, "will do yeh good.
You ain't proficient, yet, at sawin' wood."



XII. JIM


Jim


"NOW, be the Hokey Fly!" sez Peter Begg.
"Suppose 'e comes 'ome with a wooden leg.
Suppose 'e isn't fit to darnce at all,
Then, ain't we 'asty fixin' up this ball?
A little tournament at Bridge is my
Idear," sez Peter. "Be the Hokey Fly!"

Ole Peter Begg is gettin' on in years.
'E owns a reel good farm; an' all 'e fears
Is that some girl will land 'im, by are by,
An' share it with 'im--be the Hokey Fly.
That's 'is pet swear-word, an' I dunno wot
'E's meanin', but 'e uses it a lot.

"Darncin'!" growls Begg. We're fixin' up the 'all
With bits uv green stuff for a little ball
To welcome Jim, 'oo's comin' 'ome nex' day.
We're 'angin' flags around to make things gay,
An' shiftin' chairs, an' candle-greasin' floors,
'As is our way when blokes come 'ome from wars.

"A little game uv Bridge," sez Peter Begg,
"Would be more decent like, an' p'r'aps a keg
Uv somethin' if the 'ero's feelin' dry.
But this 'ere darncin'! Be the Hokey Fly,
These selfish women never thinks at all
About the guest; they only wants the ball.

"Now, cards," sez Begg, "amuses ev'ry one.
An' then our soldier guest could 'ave 'is fun
If 'e'd lost _both_ 'is legs. It makes me sick
'Ere! Don't yeh spread that candle-grease too thick
Yeh're wastin' it; an' us men 'as to buy
Enough for nonsense, be the Hokey Fly!"

Begg, 'e ain't never keen on wastin' much.
"Peter," I sez, "it's you that needs a crutch.
Why don't yeh get a wife, an' settle down?"
'E looks reel fierce, an' answers, with a frown,
"Do you think I am goin' to be rooked
For 'arf me tucker, jist to get it cooked?"

I lets it go at that, an' does me job;
An' when a little later on I lob
Along the 'omeward track, down by Flood's gate
I meet ole Digger Smith, an' stops to state
Me views about the weather an' the war. . . .
'E tells me Jim gets 'ere nex' day, at four.

An' as we talk, I sees along the road
A strange bloke 'umpin' some queer sort uv load.
I points 'im out to Smith an' sez; "'Oo's that?
Looks like a soldier, don't 'e, be 'is 'at?"
"Stranger," sez Digger, "be the cut uv 'im."
But, trust a mother's eyes. . . . "_It's Jim! My Jim_!

"My Jim!" I 'ears; an', scootin' up the track
Come Missus Flood, with Flo close at 'er back.
It was a race, for lover an' for son;
They finished neck an' neck; but mother won,
For it was 'er that got the first good 'ug.
(I'm so took back I stands there like a mug.)

_Then_ come Flo's turn; an' Jim an' Digger they
Shake 'ands without no fancy, gran'-stand play.
Yeh'd think they parted yesterd'y, them two.
For all the wild 'eroics that they do.
"Yeh done it, lad," sez Jim. "I knoo yeh would."
"You bet," sez Smith; "but I'm all to the good."

Then, uv a sudden, all their tongues is loosed.
They finds me there an' I am intrajuiced;
An' Jim tells 'ow it was 'e come to land
So soon, while Mar an' Flo each 'olds a 'and.
But, jist as sudden, they all stop an' stare
Down to the 'ouse, at Dad Flood standin' there.

'E's got 'is 'and up shadin' off the sun.
Then 'e starts up to them; but Dad don't run
'E isn't 'owlin' for 'is lost boy's kiss;
'E's got 'is own sweet way in things like this.
'E wanders up, an' stands an' looks at Jim.
An', spare me days, that look was extra grim!

I seen the mother pluckin' at 'er dress;
I seen the girl's white face an' 'er distress.
An' Digger Smith, 'e looks reel queer to me
Grinnin' inside 'imself 'e seemed to be.
At last Dad sez--oh, 'e's a tough ole gun!
"Well, are yeh sorry now for wot yeh done?"

Jim gives a start; but answers with a grin,
"Well, Dad, I 'ave been learnin' discipline.
An' tho' I ain't quite sure wot did occur
Way back"--'e's grinnin' worse--"I'm sorry, sir."
(It beats me, that, about these soldier blokes
They're always grinnin', like all things was jokes.)

P'r'aps Dad is gettin' dull in 'is ole age;
But 'e don't seem to see Jim's cammyflage.
P'r'aps 'e don't want to; for, in 'is ole eye,
I seen a twinkle as 'e give reply.
"Nex' week," 'e sez, "we will begin to cart
The taters. Yeh can make another start."

But then 'e grabs Jim's 'and. I seen the joy
In mother's eyes. "Now, welcome 'ome, me boy,"
Sez Dad; an' then 'e adds, "Yeh've made me proud;"
That's all. An' 'e don't add it none too loud.
Dad don't express 'is feelin's in a shout;
It cost 'im somethin' to git that much out.

. . . . .