C.J. Dennis, Rose of Spadgers - Part 9

152      ROSE OF SPADGERS 
"You want to crool my scheme." I sez, "with rags 

Like that ? This ain't no fancy dress affair.
Wot sort uv tile an' bags  

is them to wear ?

But 'e don't tumble; 'e's as pleased as pie.

"By gum," 'e sez, "this ort to catch 'er eye."

You posin' fer a comic film, or wot?"
I arsts 'im—"with noorotic togs like those!
Jazz clobber! Ain't you got
No decent clo'es ?"
But 'e's too tickled with 'imself to 'eed.
"This orter catch 'er eye," 'e sez, "this tweed."
It caught 'er eye, all right, an' many more.

They starts to come before daylight fades; 

An', fer a hour before 
The crowd parades,

Ole Danny 'eld the centre uv the stage,
While I stood orf an' chewed me silent rage .
That's 'ow it alwiz is: I try to show 
'Ow I can use me bean in deep-laid lurks ;

THE DANCE    153    

An' then some fool must go

An' bust the works.

'Ere, I 'ave planned a coop in slap-up style,

An' Danny spikes me guns with gran'pa's tile.

Rose never seemed so free frum ugly dreams,

Not since she came, as that night at the dance;

But my matchmakin' schemes

Makes no advance;

Fer every time I gits a chance to score,

Doreen butts in, an' crools me pitch once more.

Reel thortless, women is. She ort to seen

I 'ad intents—in spite uv Danny's clo'es—

An' that 'e was reel keen

Concernin' Rose.

Not 'er. She larfs, an' chatters with the push,

As if rich 'usbands grew on every bush.

Once, f'rinstance, I gits busy when I seen

Rose sittin' out; an' brings Dan on the run.

"Why, mercy!" sez Doreen.

"'Ere's Mister Dunn

154     ROSE OF SPADGERS

Perlite enough to arst me fer a dance.

'E knows us marrid ones don't git much chance."

An' there she grabs 'im, fair out uv me 'ands!

An' lets young Wally Free git off with Rose;

While like a fool I stands,

Kickin' me toes

An' cursin' all the fool things women do.

I'd think 'twas done apurpis, less I knoo.

That's 'ow it was all night. I schemed a treat,

Workin' shrood points, an' sweatin' blood, almost;

But every time I'm beat

Right on the post.

All me matchmakin's bust—the task uv days—

Through Danny's duds an' my wife's tackless ways.

Nice chaperong she is! While Free an' Rose

Dance 'arf the night Doreen jist sits an' beams.

When I seen that, up goes

My 'opes an' schemes.

But all that Danny sez is, "Stones the crows!

Yeh's think I'd took 'er eye, with them good clo'es." 
THE DANCE     155

When we git 'ome that night I shows me spleen

By 'intin' Rose will be left on the shelf.

An' then I see Doreen

Smile to 'erself.

"I would n't be su'prised," she sez, "to see

Rose marrid, some fine day, to Wally Free."

To Wally Free! Yeh could 'ave knocked me flat

With 'arf a brick. I seen it in a flash.

A grinnin coot like that!

Without no cash!

Besides, a man 'ood keep a thievin' cow

Like'is, won't make no 'usband any'ow.

I'm sick uv everything. It ain't no joke.

I've tried to do good works; an' now I've found

When you git 'elpin folk

They jist turn round

An' bite the 'and that feeds 'em, so to speak.

An' yet they sez the strong should 'elp the weak.

Wot rot! ... I wisht I 'ad some reel ixcuse

To push some face in, jist to ease me mind.

156   ROSE OF SPADGERS

Spike Wegg, 'e 'ad 'is use—
'Im an' 'is kind.
If I could give me ole left-'ook one swing,
I might feel kinder like to everything. 

XIV. SPIKE WEGG
 

SPIKE WEGG
ME photer's in the papers! 'Oly wars!
A 'ero, I've been called in big, black type.
I 'ad idears the time was close on ripe
Fer some applorse
To come my way, on top uv all me bumps.
Now it's come sudden, an' it's come in lumps.
I've given interviews, an' 'ad me dile
Bang on the front page torkin' to a 'tec'.
Limelight? I'm swimmin' in it to the neck!
Me sunny smile
Beams on the crowd. Misun'erstandin's past;
An' I ave come into me own, at last.
Bu all the spot-light ain't alone fer me;
'Arf I am glad to say, is made to shine
Upon that firm an' trusted  friend uv mine,
Ole Wally Free—
 

160  ROSE OF SPADGERS

A man,  I've alwiz  said, 'oo'd  make 'is mark . . . .
But, case you 'ave n't 'eard the story, 'ark:
Spike Wegg -Yes, 'im. I thort, the same as you,
That 'e was dished an' done fer in the Lane.
I don't ixpeck to cross 'is tracks again;
An' never knoo
That 'e 'ad swore to git me one uv those
Fine days, an' make 'is alley good with Rose.
Spike 'ad been aimin' 'igh in 'is profesh.
Bank robberies, an' sich, was 'is noo lurk;
An' one big job 'ad set the cops to work
To plan a fresh

Campaign agin this crook. They want 'im more
Than ever they 'ave wanted 'im before.
They yearn fer 'im, reel passionit, they do.
Press an' perlice both 'ankers fer 'im sore.
"Where is Spike Wegg?" the daily 'eadlines roar.
But no one knoo.
Or them that did 'ad fancies to be dumb.
The oysters uv the  underworld was mum.
SPIKE WEGG 161
It was the big sensation uv the day.
Near 'arf the Force was nosin' fer the bloke
Wot done the deed; but Spike was well in smoke,
An' like to stay.

Shots 'ad been fired; an' one poor coot was plugged.
An' now the crowd arsts, "Why ain't no one jugged?''
That's 'ow the land lies when, one day, I go
Down to the orchid paddick, where I see
A strange cove playin' spy be'ind a tree.
I seem to know
The shape uv that there sneakin', slinkin' frame,
An' walk across to git on to 'is game.
Oh, yes; it's 'im; an' a reel vicious Spike.
Venom is in the eye that looks in mine—
A cold, 'ard, snaky eye. "Well, Bill, yeh swine.
'Ow would yeh like
To make cold meat?" This is the pleasant  way
'E greets me on a nice, bright, warm, Spring day.
Though it is warm, I feel a sudden cold
Creep up me spine. I 'speck to 'ear a gun
Tork any minute; so I make a run
To git a hold,
 

162 ROSE OF SPADGERS
An' keep in close to use that upper-cut.
But Spike is fly this time, an' works 'is nut.
'E side-steps pretty . Then we git to grips.
I plant a short-arm jolt; an', as I land,
I see a flash uv somethin' in 'is 'and.
Nex' thing, 'e rips
A knife beneath me guard an' gives a dig—
Sticks me fair in the bellers, like a pig.
It was red-'ot!  I grunt, an' break away
To 'old 'im orf.  I'm battlin' fer me life—
All-in, a cert; fer 'e's still got the knife.
An', by the way
'E looks, I know it's either 'im or me
'As an appointment at the cemet'ry.
I've often wondered 'ow a feller feels
When 'e is due to wave the world good-bye.
They say 'is past life flicks before 'is eye
Like movie  reels.
 SPIKE WEGG 163

My past life never troubled me a heap.
All that I want to do is go to sleep.
I'm gittin' weak; I'm coughin', chokey like;
Me legs is wobbly, an' I'm orful ill.
But I 'ave got some fight left in me still.
I look at Spike;
An' there I see the dirty look wot shows
'E's got me whe e 'e want s me—an' 'e knows.
'E's smilin'. Not a pretty smile, I own.

But, sudden, there's a fear springs in 'is eye; 
An', frum be'ind me, something flashes by.
I 'ear Spike groan;
I 'ear the squishy thud uv flesh on flesh;
An' gits idears there's somethin' doin' fresh.
I think that's where I fell.  Nex' thing I see
Is Spike Wegg down, an' fair on top uv 'im
Some one that's breathin' 'ard an' fightin' grim.
It's Wally Free!
It's good old Wally!  'E 'as got Spike pinned,
Both 'ands, an' kneelin' 'eavy on 'is wind.
 

164   ROSE OF SPADGERS
So fur so good. But I ain't outed yet.
On 'ands an' knees I crawls to reach 'em, slow.
(Spike's got the knife, an' Wally dare n't let go)
Then, as I get
Close up, I 'ear Rose screamin', then me wife.
I'm faint. I twist Spike's arm—an' grab the knife.
That's all. At least, as far as I'm concerned,
I took no further interest in the show.
The things wot 'appened subsekint I know
Frum wot I learned
When I come-to, tucked in me little bed,
Me chest on fire, an' cold packs on me 'ead.
I 'ear they tied Spike up with 'arness straps
An' bits uv 'ay-band, till the John 'Ops come;
An' watched 'im workin' out a mental sum­—
Free an' some chaps—
Uv 'ow much time 'e'd git fer this last plot
An' other jobs. The answer was, a lot.
Then that nex' day! an' after, fer  a  week!
Yeh'd think I owned the winner uv a Cup.
Pressmen, perlice, the parson, all rush up;
An' I've to speak
 SPIKE WEGG  165

Me piece, to be took down in black an' white,
In case I chuck a seven overnight.
The papers done us proud. Near every day
Some uv 'em printed photers uv me map
(Looked at some ways, I ain't too crook a chap)
But, anyway
I've 'ad enough. I wish they'd  let me be.
I'm sick uv all this cheap publicity.
But I'm reel glad ole Wally's won a name.
'E saved my life; I'm wise to that, all right.
Besides, I alwiz said that 'e was white
Since 'e first came
To live 'ere, but 'e never got 'is due.
Now 'im an' Rose—Ah, well; I fixed that too.
But sich is fame. Less than a month ago
The whole thing started with a naggin' tooth.
Now I am famis; an', to tell the truth­—
Well, I dunno—
I'd 'ardly like to bet yeh that I don't
Git arst to act in pitchers—but I won't.
 

XV. NARCISSUS
 

NARCISSUS

A MAN's a mug. I've worked the 'ole thing out
To-day, down in the orchard where I sat
Runnin' the wheels red-'ot beneath me 'at,
An' wras'lin' fervud with a sudden doubt—
A doubt wot's plugged me fair bang on the point
An' jolted all me glad dreams out uv joint.
It's been a pearlin' day. The birds above
Up in the trees sung fit to break their 'earts.
It seemed, some'ow, the 'ole world's rnakin' love,
Ixceptin' me. An' then an' there I starts
To think things out an' git me bearin's straight,
Becoz—Well, I ain't been meself uv late.
I've flopped. It was the parson put me wise,
Before 'e left. I 'ad been full uv skite.
I was the 'ero uv the piece all right.
Me chest was out, me 'ead was twice the size
It used to be. I felt I was king-pin.
Did n't the papers 'ave me photer in?
 

170  ROSE OF SPADGERS

I was that puffed with pride I never stopped
To search me soul fer signs uv wear an' tear.
I loved meself so much I never dropped
To any blot or blemish anywhere.
The Lord 'Igh Muck-a-muck, wot done the trick,
An' dug the Murray with 'is little pick.
When I think back on it I go all 'ot.
I was that blind I never even seen,
Nor looked to see no changes in Doreen.
I was content to 'ave 'er on the spot
Dodgin' about the 'ouse in 'er calm way,
To chirp, "Yes, Bill," to everything  I say.
The parson punchered me. 'E's alwiz 'ad
A trick uv callin' me by fancy names.
In town 'e christened me "Sir Gally'ad,"
'Oo was, it seems, a knight wot rescued dames,
But never spoke out uv 'is turn to none,
Becoz 'is 'eart was pure. 'E took the bun.
But now "Narcissy" is the moniker
'E wishes on me; an' I arst fer light.
"Narcissy?" I remarks. "Don't sound perlite.
 NARCISSUS  171

'Oo was this bird? There looks to be a slur
Or somethin' sly about that cissy touch."
"A bloke," 'e sez, "'oo liked 'imself too much."
I looks quick fer that twinkle in 'is eye
Wot tells me if 'e's kiddin' me or not.
But it ain't there. "Fair dinkum," I reply,
"You don't mean—You ain't 'intin' that I've
got—"
"I mean," 'e sez, "you should give thanks through life
That you 'ave been so lucky in your wife."
'E don't 'arp on the toon; but turns away.
"Your daffydils," 'e sez, "makes quite a show."
An' later, when it came 'is time to go,
'E shakes me 'and reel 'arty, twinklin' gay . . . .
But, "lucky in me wife?" Where did I 'ear
Somethin' like that before? It sounds dead queer.
I turns to 'er, after we've waved good-byes,
To try an' figure wot the parson meant.
An' sudden, I see somethin' in 'er eyes
I never noticed there before 'e went: