Digger Smith | Page 2

'usband--where they
live alone.
Spite uv 'er cares, she ain't the sort to fuss
Or serve up
sudden tears an' sob an' moan,
An' since I've known 'er some'ow I
'ave grown
To see in 'er, an' all the grief she's bore,
A million brave
ole mothers 'oo 'ave known
Deep sorrer since them days before the
war.
"Before the war," she sez. "Yeh mind our Syd?
Poor lad. . . . But then,
yeh never met young Jim--
'Im 'oo was charged with things 'e never
did.
Ah, both uv you'd 'ave been reel chums with 'im.
'Igh-spirited 'e
was, a perfect limb.
It's six long years now since 'e went away
Ay,
drove away." 'Er poor ole eyes git dim.
"That was," she sighs, "that
was me blackest day.
"Me blackest day! Wot am I sayin' now?
There was the day the
parson come to tell
The news about our Syd. . . . An', yet,
some'ow . . . .
My little Jim!" She pauses for a spell. . . .
"Your
'olly'ocks is doin' reely well,"
She sez, an' battles 'ard to brighten up.

"An' them there pinks uv yours, 'ow sweet they smell.
An'--Thanks!
I think I will 'ave one more cup."
As fur as I can get the strength uv it,
Them Floods 'ave 'ad a reel
tough row to hoe.
First off, young Jim, 'oo plays it 'igh a bit,
Narks
the ole man a treat, an' slings the show.
Then come the war, an' Syd 'e
'as to go.
'E run 'is final up at Suvla Bay--
One uv the Aussies I was
proud to know.
An' Jim's cracked 'ardy since 'e went away.
'Er Jim! These mothers! Lord, they're all the same.
I wonder if
Doreen will be that kind..
Syd was the son 'oo played the reel man's
game;
But Jim 'oo sloped an' left no word be'ind,
His is the picter
shinin' in 'er mind.
'Igh-spirited! I've 'eard that tale before.
I
sometimes think she'd take it rather kind
To 'ear that 'is 'igh spirits run
to war.

"Before the war," she sez. "Ah, times was good.
The little farm out
there, an' jist us four
Workin' to make a decent liveli'ood.
Our Syd
an' Jim! . . . Poor Jim! It grieves me sore;
For Dad won't 'ave 'im
mentioned 'ome no more.
'E's 'urt, I know, cos 'e thinks Jim 'urt me.

As if 'e could, the bonny boy I bore. . . .
But I must off 'ome now, an'
git Dad's tea."
I seen 'er to the gate. (Take it frum me,
I'm some perlite.) She sez,
"Yeh mustn't mind
Me talkin' so uv Jim, but when I see
Your face it
brings 'im back; 'e's jist your kind.
Not quite so 'an'some, p'r'aps, nor
so refined.
I've got some toys uv 'is," she sez. "But there--
This is
ole woman's talk, an' you be'ind
With all yer work, an' little time to
spare."
She gives me 'and a squeeze an' turns away,
Sobbin', I thort; but when
she looks be'ind,
Smilin', an' wavin', like she felt reel gay,
I
wonders 'ow the women works that blind,
An' jist waves back; then
goes inside to find
A lookin'-glass, an' takes a reel good look. . . .

"'Not quite so 'an'some, p'r'aps, nor so refined!'
Gawd 'elp yeh, Jim," I
thinks. "Yeh must be crook."
II. DUMMY BRIDGE
Dummy Bridge
"IF I'd 'a' played me Jack on that there Ten,"
Sez Peter Begg, "I might
'a' made the lot."
"'Ow could yeh?" barks ole Poole. "'Ow' could yeh,
when
I 'ad me Queen be'ind?" Sez Begg, "Wot rot!
I slung away me
King to take that trick.
Which one! Say, ain't yer 'ead a trifle thick?
"Now, don't yeh see that when I plays me King
I give yer Queen a
chance, an' lost the slam."
But Poole, 'e sez 'e don't see no sich thing,

So Begg gits 'ot, an' starts to loose a "Damn."
'E twigs the missus
jist in time to check,
An' makes it "Dash," an' gits red down 'is neck.

There's me an' Peter Begg, an' ole man Poole--
Neighbours uv mine,
that farm a bit close by--
Jist once a week or so we makes a school,

An' gives this game uv Dummy Bridge a fly.
Doreen, she 'as 'er
sewin' be the fire,
The kid's in bed; an' 'ere's me 'eart's desire.
'Ome-comfort, peace, the picter uv me wife
'Appy at work, me
neighbours gathered round
All friendly-like--wot more is there in life?

I've searched a bit, but, better I ain't found.
Doreen, she seems
content, but in 'er eye
I've seen reel pity when the talk gits 'igh.
This ev'nin' we 'ad started off reel 'ot:
Two little slams, an' Poole,
without a score,
Still lookin' sore about the cards 'e'd got--
When,
sudden-like, a knock comes to the door.
"A visitor," growls Begg, "to
crool our game."
An' looks at me, as though I was to blame.
Jist as Doreen goes out, I seen 'er grin.
"Deal 'em up quick!" I
whispers. "Grab yer 'and,
An' look reel occupied when they comes in.

Per'aps they'll 'ave the sense to understand.
If it's a man, maybe 'e'll
make a four;
But if"--Then Missus Flood