C.J. Dennis, Rose of Spadgers - Part 7

112
 ROSE OF SPADGERS
But later on I wished 'e'd sling 'is mag.
The nearer 'ome I get the worse I feel;
The worse I feel, the more I chew the rag;
The more I chew the rag, this crooked deal
I've served Doreen looks blacker yet.
I worry till I get.
All one cold sweat.
I walk 'ome frum the station, thinkin' 'ard.
Wot can I tell me wife? Gawstruth! I been
Eight long years wed, an' never 'ad to guard
Me tongue before. Wot can I tell Doreen?
An' there she's waitin' 'arf ways down our hill....
She takes one look.... "Why! Bill!"
I stands stock still.
"Oh, yes, me face," I larfs. "O' course. Me face.
I clean fergot. I—well-to tell the truth,
I—Don't look scared—I—Oh, it's no disgrace.
That dentist. Yes, yes! Pullin' out me tooth.
Reel butcher. Nearly frachered both me jors.
Yes, dear, lets go indoors."
(Wow! 'Oly wars!)

113
THE KNIGHT'S RETURN
"Poor Bil! Poor dear! "E must 'ave been a brute."
She kisses me fair on me busted lip;
An' all me fears is stilled be that serloot.
Ar, wot a fool I was to 'ave the pip.
The game is mine before I 'ardly tried.
Dead easy, 'ow I lied!
I'm 'ome an' dried.
Yet....I dunno. Me triump' don't last long.
'Twuz low down, some way, 'ow I took 'er in—
Like pinchin' frum a kid. I feel dead wrong.
The parson calls it "conshusniss uv sin."
It might be; but it's got me worried now;
An' conshuns is a cow,
That I'll allow.
Take it frum me. To 'ave a lovin' wife
Fussin' an' pettin' you, jist through a lie—
Like 'er this ev'nin—crools all marrid life.
If you can't look 'er fair bang in the eye
An' fell you've earned that trust frum first to last,
You're 'eadin' downward fast. . . .
But Rose—Oh, blast!

IX. THE ALSO-RAN

THE ALSO-RAN

I KNOW I'm dull. I know I got a brain
That's only fit fer fertilizin' 'air.
I don't arst fer bokays: I ain't that vain;
But fair is fair.
An' when yeh think yer somethin' uv a man,
It 'urts to find yerself  a also-ran.
'Urts like one thing. To git sent to the pack
When you 'ave 'ad idears you're ace an' king
An' all the pitcher cards down to the Jack
Is like to sting
Yer vanity. I thort I was some use,
An' now I'm valyid as a 'umble dooce.
Don't mind my sulks. I s'pose I 'as swelled 'ead;
But gittin' snouted ain't wot I expeck.

118 ROSE OF SPADGERS
Aw, they can 'ave it on their own! I'm full
Up to the neck!
Never no more! I chuck good works right 'ere. . . .
But lets start frum the start an' git it clear.
I own I used  me nut. Fer marriage brings
Experience to stop yeh actin' rash.
I've missed the step before through rushin' things,
An' come a crash.
I planned it out all careful frum the start;
Me taticks was a reel fine work uv art.
Me problem's this: The noos 'as to be broke
Concernin' Rose. Doreen 'as to be told.
The 'ow an' when that bit uv noos is spoke
I've learnt uv old.
I'm shrood. I wait. I watch me chance to act.
The trick's to know the time an' place exact.
You blokes unmarrid ain't got no idear
Uv 'ow successful  'usbands works their 'eads.
It's like a feller strugglin' to keep clear
A thousand threads.

THE ALSO-RAN 119
Once let 'em tangle, an' you take the blame.
You're up to putty; an' yeh've lost the game.
I picks a nice, calm, cozy, peaceful night.
The suppper things is washed; the kid's in bed
(I 'elped to wipe the plates) the fire burns bright;
An' then I led
The tork around to tales uv Ginger Mick,
Cunnin' an' crafty like, an' not too quick.
"Funny," I sez, "that we should mention Mick.
In town I met that girl—(Wot's 'er name? Rose)
By accident. Poor thing looks orful sick. . . .
Well, I suppose
She 'as 'er worries. . . . Lost 'er job, yeh know."
Doreen don't take much int'rest. She sez, "Oh ?"
"Yes," I goes on; "a bit uv country air
Is wot she needs. She's very sick-an' low.
She seemed——well——sort uv——'opeless with.
. . . despair." 

Doreen sez, "Oh ?"
It's 'eavy goin'; but I sticks it, grim.
"Poor Mick !" I sez. "I often think uv 'im. 

120 ROSE OF SPADGERS
"Poor Mick !"I sez. (Well, any'ow, I mean
Them words) "If you 'ad seen that girl, my dear,
You'd  arst 'er up to stay." "Why," sez Doreen,
"She's comin' 'ere
On Choosday next." (I jist choke back a shout)
"That's why I got the spare room tidied out."
"She's wot?" . . . I can't say more. "Well," sez
me wife,
"Seein' you arst 'er, why all this su'prise?"
Seein' you 'ad a fight, an' risked yer life,
An' got black  eyes,
An' played the 'ero, as the parson says,
You ort to know. I've knowed," she sez, "fer days."
Snowy! To think that parson cove would go
An' let me down to flounder in the mud,
An' scheme, an' lie, an' work the game reel low,
To come a thud!
"Yeh mean to say," I arsts, mad  as can be,
"Yeh've fixed all  this without consultin' me?
"Yeh mean to say I 'ave n't got the right
To know wot's goin' on in my own 'ouse?

THE ALSO-RAN 121
Yeh mean to say—" "There, Bill," she sez, "keep
quite.
Why should you rouse?
You told me nothin'. Parson wrote to me;
An' we fixed things without yer 'elp," sez she.
Women! She sits an' tells me this dead cold!
To think I've worked an' worried till I'm tired,
An' squeezed me brain a treat, jist to be told
I ain't required!
"You was too modest, Bill, to let me 'ear
About that fight." she sez. "Now, were n't you,
dear?"
Modest? Aw, well. I s'pose I am—a bit.
A feller can't go skitin' all 'is  days.
But, spite uv 'er nice way uv takin' it,
An' all 'er praise
An' that, I got to own I'm feelin' 'urt
Fer to git treated like a bit uv dirt.
Nex' mornin' I ain't feelin' none too good:
That snub still 'urt. I potter round about; 

122 ROSE OF SPADGERS

Then go across to where 'e's choppin' wood
To 'ave it out
With Wally Free about 'is thievin' cow.
But that pie-faced galoot won't 'ave a row.
I'll 'ave the lor on 'im, I tells 'im straight.
Me fence 'er out? 'E's got to fence 'er in!
The lor sez that. But all the lors I state
Jist gits a grin.
That's all. 'E grins a sight too much, that bloke.
Clean through the piece, I seem to be the joke.
I know I'm dull. I know me brain's jist meant
To nourish 'air-roots. But I 'ave me pride.
An' when I toils an' frets, an' then gits sent
To stand aside,
I know me place: I don't need to be shown.
I'm done! An' they can 'ave it on their own.

X. A WOMAN'S WAY

A WOMAN'S WAY

WOMEN is strange. You take my tip; I'm wise.
I know enough to know I'll never  know
The 'uman female mind, or wot su'prise
They 'as in store to bring yer boastin' low.
They keep yeh guessin' wot they're  up to nex',
An' then, odds on, it's wot yeh least expecks.
Take me. I know me wife can twist me round
'Er little finger. I don't mind that none.
Wot worries me is that I've never found
Which way. I'm gittin' twisted, till it's done.
Women is strange. An' yet, I've got to own
I'd make a orful 'ash uv it, alone.
There's this affair uv Rose. I tells yeh straight,
Suspicious don't describe me state uv mind.

126 A WOMAN'S  WAY
The calm way that Doreen 'as fixed the date
An' all, looks  like there's somethin' else be'ind.
Somethin'—not  spite or meanness; don't think  that.
Me wife purrs sometimes, but she ain't a cat.
But somethin'. I've got far too wise a nob
To be took in by 'er airs uv repose.
I know I said I'd chuck the 'ole darn job
An' leave 'er an' the parson deal with Rose.
But now me mind's uneasy, that's a fack.
I've got to manage things with speshul tack.
That's 'ow I feel—uneasy—when I drive
Down to the train. I'm thinkin' as I goes,
There ain't two women, that I know, alive
More dif'rint than them two—Doreen an' Rose.
'Ow they will mix together I dunno.
It all depends on 'ow I run the show.
Rose looks dead pale. She ain't got much to say
('Er few poor bits uv luggage make no load)
She smiles when we shake 'ands, an' sez Good day
Shy like an' strange; an' as we take the road
 

[printed drawing-see original document]

A WOMAN'S WAY 129
Back to the farm, I see 'er  look around
Big-eyed, like it's some queer new land she's found.
I springs a joke or two. I'm none too bright
Meself; but it's a slap-up sort uv day.
Spring's workin' overtime: to left an' right
Blackwood an' wattle trees is bloomin' gay,
Blotchin' the bonzer green with golden dust;
An' magpies in 'em singin' fit to bust.
I sneak a glance at Rose. I can't look long.
'Er lips is trem'lin'; tears is in 'er eye.
Then, glad with life, a thrush beefs out a song
'Longside the road as we go drivin' by.
"Oh, Gawd A'mighty! 'Ark!" I 'ear 'er say,
"An' Spadgers Lane not fifty mile away!"
Not fifty mile away: the frowsy Lane,
Where only dirt an' dreariness 'as sway,
Where every second tale's a tale uv pain,
An' devil's doin's blots the night an' day.
But 'ere is thrushes tootin' songs uv praise.
An' golden blossoms lightin' up our ways.

130 ROSE OF SPADGERS
I speaks a piece to boost this bonzer spot;
Tellin' 'er 'ow the neighbour'ood  'as grown,
An' 'ow Dave Brown, jist up the road, 'as got
Ten ton uv spuds per acre, usin' bone.
She don't seem to be list'nin'. She jist stares,
Like someone dreamin' dreams, or thinkin' pray'rs.
Me yap's a dud, No matter 'ow I try,
Me conversation ain't the dinkum  brand.
I'm 'opin' that she don't bust out an' cry:
It makes me nervis. But  I understand.
Over an' over I can 'ear 'er  say,
"An' Spadgers less than fifty mile away!"
We're 'ome at  last. Doreen is at the gate.
I hitch the reins, an' quite the eager pup;
Then 'elp Rose down, an' stand aside an' wait
To see 'ow them two size each other up.
But quick—like that—two arms 'as greeted warm
The sobbin' girl. . . . Doreen's run true to form.
'"Ome on the bit!" I thinks. But as I turn,
'Ere's Wally Free 'as got to poke 'is dile

A WOMAN'S WAY 131
Above the fence, where 'e's been cuttin' fern.
The missus spots 'im, an' I seen 'er smile.
An' then she calls to 'im: "Oh, Mister Free,
Come in," she sez, "an' 'ave a cup uv tea."
There's tack! A woman dunno wot it means.
What does that blighter want with cups uv tea?
A privit, fambly meet—an' 'ere Doreen's
Muckin' it all by draggin' in this Free.
She might 'ave knowed that Rose ain't feelin' prime,
An' don't want no strange comp'ny at the time.
Free an' 'is thievin' cow! But, all the same,
'Is yap did seem to cheer Rose up a lot.
An' after, when 'e'd bunged 'is lanky  frame
Back to 'is job, Doreen sez, "Ain't you got
No work at all to do outside to-day?
Us two must  'ave a tork; so run away."
I went . . . . I went becoz, if I 'ad stayed,
Me few remarks might 'ave been pretty 'ot.
Gawbli' me! 'Oo is 'ead uv this parade?
Did I plan out the scheme, or did I not?