C.J. Dennis, Rose of Spadgers - Part 3

32 ROSE OF SPADGERS

That was no very 'appy mornin' song.

I ain't excusin' my end uv the joke;

But, after that, things seem to go all wrong.

She never spoke

One narsty word; but, while the chops she serves,

'Er shrieks uv silence fair got on me nerves.

She might 'ave arst wot ailed me. Spare me days!

She seen that I was crook. She seen me face

Swelled like a poisoned pup's. She only says,

"Please to say grace."

I mumbles . . . Then, in tones that wakes brute force,

She twitters, "Will yeh take termarter sorce?"

I could n't eat no breakfast. Just the sight

Uv sweet things give me tooth a new, worse ache.

Sez she. "You seem to lost yer appetite.

'Ave some seed cake."

Seed cake! Gawstruth! I'm there in agerny,

An' she, 'oo swore to love, sits mockin; me.

At last, when our small son gits orf to school,

I goes an' sits down sulkin' on a couch.

"'Ave you a toothache, Bill?" sez she, quite cool,

"Or jist plain grouch?

Hand drawn sketch see original

Blank page

TERMARTER SORCE    35

Yer face looks funny. P'raps yer gittin' fat."

I glare at 'er an' answer, "Huh!". . . like that.

That one word, "Huh," said in a certain way,

'Eart-felt an' with intention—it can well

Make the beginnin's uv a perfick day

A perfick 'ell.

So I sez "Huh!" . . . an' then done my ole trick

(A low-down lurk) uv gittin' orf-stage quick.

It was a slap-up day. The wattle's gold

'Ad just began to peep among the green;

An' dafferdils, commencin' to unfold,

They make the scene

A pitcher that—'Struth! 'Ow that tooth did ache!

An', cravin' symperthy, I git—seed cake!

It was a bonzer day! The thrush's song

Rose like a nymn. A touch uv queer remorse

Gits me fer 'arf-a-mo', then goes all wrong.

Ter-marter sorce!

Women don't understand, it's all too plain.

Termarter sorce, she sez, an' me in pain!

36  ROSE OF SPADGERS

I dunno 'ow the mornin' muddled through.

That naggin' tooth was gittin' reel red-'ot,

I 'ad a 'arf a dozen things to do,

An' slummed the lot.

Then, jist before I goes fer mornin' tea,

I start another row with Wally Free.

I tells 'im if that fence ain't mended—now—

I'll summons 'im. But 'e jist stands an' grins.

'E's always grinnin'.Silly-lookin' cow!

An' fer two pins

I'd go acrost an' give 'is eye a poke.

'E's far too 'appy—fer a single bloke.

While I am boilin' 'ot, Doreen comes out

To call me fer me mornin' cup o' tea.

I turn an' answer with a savage shout.

"Dear me!" sez she.

"You seem to be put out this mornin', Bill.

'E'll mend the fence, all right. I'm sure 'e will."

"Aw! It ain't that," I sez . . . . Then I let go,

When once we git inside, an' ease me mind

By tellin' 'er some things she ought to know.

I seemed to find

TERMARTER SORCE   37

A lot uv things that 'elped to make me sore;

An' they remind me uv a 'ole lot more.

I tells 'er that no wife, 'oo was n't blind,

Would treat 'er 'usban' like a block uv wood.

I sez I could n't un'erstand 'er mind—

Blowed if I could!

I tells 'er that no woman with a brain

An 'eart would smile to see a man in pain.

I sez some wives— some sorts uv wives, uv course,

If you was lyin' dead, no more to wake,

Would arst yeh if yeh like termarter sorce,

Or else seed cake.

I sez I don't look for no fond caress,

But symperthy, an' un'erstandin'? Yes!

I sez, sarcastic, that I 'ave no doubt

Some wives might think termarters an' seed cake

Was 'andy sorts uv things to 'ave about

To stop toothache.

But wot I liked in wives, once in a while,

Was commin-sense.(An' 'ere, I seen 'er smile).

38 ROSE OF SPADGERS

An' then I sez: "Gorbli' me! Ain't I worked

Me fingers to the bone, an' toiled an' slaved?

Some fellers, if their wives 'ad smiled an' smirked

An' so be'aved" . . . .

(She pours the tea an' 'ands acrost my cup)

"Would lose their tempers, yes, an' smash things

up!"

I sez—Oh, other things in that same strain

I ain't got any fancy to recall.

(That tooth jist 'ad me jumpin' mad with pain)

But through it all,

With them fool speeches bubblin' in me throat,

I saw meself a bleatin', babblin' goat.

I gulps me tea; already 'arf ashamed

Uv more than 'arf I'd said. But is me wife

All 'umble, like a woman 'oo's been blamed?

Not on yer life!

She answers me as if she was me mar.

"There, there," she sez. "Wot a big kid you are!"

I gulps more tea; an' tells 'er, anyway.

Me toothache ain't a thing to joke about;

An' I will 'ave to go to town to-day

An' 'ave it out.

TERMARTER SORCE    39

At that she looks at me with 'er calm eyes

Searchin' me through an' through 'fore she replies.

Then, "Bill", sez she, "tell me the honest truth:

Does your tooth ache, or is this an excuse?

Why, yesterd'y you 'ad no achin' tooth.". . . .

Aw, wot's the use!

"Excuse! Wot for?" I yells. But she sez, "Oh,

If it's that bad I s'pose you'll 'ave to go."

"Excuse!" I sez. "I know wot's in yer mind.

Yeh think I can't read women's thoughts, I s'pose.

Yeh think that I planned this so I could find

Wot's 'appened Rose.

Yeh think I've come the double, lied an' schemed

About a thing I never even dreamed!

"Yeh think—" "There, there!" she sez to me again,

Soothin' an' soft, still like a patient mar.

"It's plain you'll never un'erstand, you men,

Wot women are,

Their thorts, their feelin's, 'ow they fear an' doubt.

Why, Bill, it's only you I think about."

40  ROSE OF SPADGERS

I knoo. Somewhere inside me silly nob

I knoo wot thort it is she won't explain.

She feared, if I got with the old, crook mob

In Spadgers Lane

That I might miss the step. I've never queered

The pitch in eight long years; an' yet she feared.

"I'll promise you—" I starts. But she sez, "Don't!

Don't promise wot you might regret some day.

I trust you, Bill; an' well I know you won't

Choose the wrong way.

Women are silly sometimes. Let's ferget

All that was said . . . . Is that tooth achin' yet?"

I gives it up!. . . It's fairly got me beat,

That twists an' turnin' uv a woman's mind,

Nex' thing, she's smilin' up at me so sweet,

So soft an' kind

That I —with things still in me mind to tell—

I melts—jist like I always do. Ah, well!

TERMARTER SORCE    41

(Except that tooth). Then by the fence I sees

Poor Wally Free,

Pretendin' to be happy, with 'is plough.

Poor lonely coot! I pity 'im, some'ow.

III. A HOLY WAR

Blank page

A HOLY WAR

"YOUNG friend!". . . . I tries to duck, but miss the

bus.

'E sees me first, an' 'as me by the 'and.

"Young friend!" 'e sez; an' starts to make a fuss

At meetin' me. "Why, this," 'e sez, "is grand!

Events is workin' better than I planned.

It's Providence that I should meet you thus.

You're jist the man," 'e sez, "to make a stand,

An' strive for us.

"Young friend," 'e sez, "allow me to explain. . ."

But wot 'e 'as to say too well I knows.

I got the stren'th uv it in Spadgers Lane

Not 'arf an hour before'and when I goes

To see if I could pick up news uv Rose,

After that dentist let me off the chain.

("Painless" 'e's labled. So 'e is, I s'pose.

I 'ad the pain.)

46  ROSE OF SPADGERS

"Young friend," 'e sez. I let 'im 'ave 'is say;

Though I'm already wise to all 'e said—

The queer ole parson, with 'is gentle way—

('E tied Doreen an' me when we was wed).

I likes 'im, from 'is ole soft, snowy 'ead

Down to 'is boots. 'E ain't the sort to pray

When folks needs bread.

Yeh'd think that 'e was simple as a child;

An' so 'e is, some ways; but, by and by,

While 'e is talkin' churchy-like an' mild,

Yeh catch a tiny twinkle in 'is eye

Which gives the office that 'e's pretty fly

To cunnin' lurks. 'E ain't to be beguiled

With fairy tales. An' when I've seen 'em try

'E's only smiled.

But, all the same, I did n't want to meet

"Is 'oly nibs jist then; fer well I knoo,

When I fell up against 'im in the street,

'E 'ad a little job fer me to do.

Fer I 'ad gathered up a tin or two

In Spadgers, where 'is rev'rince 'as 'is beat,

Tryin' to make that Gorfergotten crew

'Olesome an' sweet.

Hand drawn sketch see original

A HOLY WAR      49

"Young friend," 'e sez, "I am beset by foes.

The Church," 'e sez, "is in a quandary."

An' then 'e takes an' spills out all 'is woes,

An' 'ints that this 'ere job is up to me.

"Yer aid—per'aps yer strong right arm," sez 'e,

"Is needed if we are to rescue Rose

From wot base schemes an' wot iniquity

Gawd only knows."

This is the sorry tale. Rose, sick, an' low

In funds an' frien's, an' far too proud to beg,

Is gittin' sorely tempted fer to go

Into the spielin' trade by one Spike Wegg.

I knoo this Spike uv old; a reel bad egg,

'Oo's easy livin' is to git in tow

Some country mug, an' pull 'is little leg

Fer all 'is dough.

A crooked crook is Spike amongst the crooks,

A rat, oo'd come the double on 'is friends;

Flash in 'is ways, but innercint in looks

Which 'e works well fer 'is un'oly ends.

"It's 'ard to know," sez Snowy, "why Fate sends

Sich men among us, or why Justice brooks

Their evil ways, which they but seldom mends--

Except in books.

50     ROSE OF SPADGERS

"Young friend," 'e sez, "You're known in Spadgers

Lane.

You know their ways. We must seek out this man.

With 'er , pray'r an' persuasion 'ave been vain.

I've pleaded, but she's bound to 'is vile plan.

I'd 'ave you treat 'im gently, if you can;

But if you can't, well—I need not explain."

('E twinkles 'ere) "I'm growin' partisan;

I must refrain."

"Do you mean stoush?" I sez. "Fer if yeh do

I warn yeh that a scrap might put me queer."

"Young friend," sez 'e, " I leave the means to you.

Far be it from the Church to interfere

With noble works." But I sez, "Now, look 'ere,

I got a wife at 'ome; you know 'er too.

Ther's certin things I never could make clear

If once she knoo.

"I got a wife," I sez, "an' loves 'er well,

Like I loves peace an' quite. An' if I goes

Down into Spadgers,raisin' merry 'ell,

Breakin' the peace an' things account uv Rose,

Where that might land me goodness only knows.

A HOLY WAR      51

'Ow women sees these things no man can tell

I've done with stoush," I sez. "'Ard knocks an'

blows

'Ave took a spell.

"I've done with stoush," I sez. But in some place

Deep in me 'eart a voice begun to sing;

A lurin' little voice, with motives base . . . .

It's ten long years since I was in a ring,

Ten years since I gave that left 'ook a swing,

Ten weary years since I pushed in a face;

An' 'ere's a chance to 'ave a little fling

With no disgrace.

"Stoush? Stoush, young friend?" 'e sez. "Where

'ave I 'eard

That term? I gather it refers to strife.

But there," 'e sez, "why quarrel with a word?

As you 'ave said, indeed, I know yer wife;

An' should she 'ear you went where vice is rife

To battle fer the right—But it's absurd

To look fer gallantry in modrin life.

It's a rare bird.