Digger Smith | Page 3

comes in the door.
'Twas ole Mar Flood, 'er face wrapped in a smile.
"Now, boys," she
sez, "don't let me spoil yer game.
I'll jist chat with Doreen a little
while;
But if yeh stop I'll be ashamed I came."
An' then she waves a
letter in 'er 'and.
Sez she, "Our Jim's a soldier! Ain't it grand?"
"Good boy," sez Poole. "Let's see. I make it 'earts."
"Doubled!"
shouts Begg. . . . "An' 'e's been in a fight," Sez Missus Flood, "out in
them furrin' parts.
French, I suppose. I can't pronounce it right.
'E's
been once wounded, somewhere in the leg. . . ."
"'Ere, Bill! Yeh gone
to sleep?" asks Peter Begg.
I plays me Queen uv Spades; an' plays 'er bad.
Begg snorts. . . . "My
boy," sighs Missus Flood. "My Jim." . . . "King 'ere," laughs Poole.
"That's the last Spade I 'ad." . . . Doreen she smiles: "I'm glad yeh've
'eard from 'im.". . . "We're done," groans Begg. "Why did yeh nurse yer

Ace?". . . "My Jim!" An' there was sunlight in 'er face.
"I always thought a lot uv Jim, I did,"
Sez Begg. "'E does yeh credit.
'Ere, your deal."
"That's so," sez Poole. "'E was an all-right kid.
No
trumps? I'm sorry that's the way yeh feel.
'Twill take yeh all yer time
to make the book." . . .
An' then Doreen sends me a wireless look.
I gets the S.O.S.; but Begg is keen.
"My deal," 'e yaps. "Wot rotten
cards I get."
Ole Missus Flood sits closer to Doreen.
"The best," she
whispers, "I ain't told yeh yet."
I strains me ears, an' leads me King uv
Trumps.
"Ace 'ere!" grins Begg. Poole throws 'is Queen--an' thumps.
"That saves me Jack!" 'owls Begg. "Tough luck, ole sport." . . . Sez
Missus Flood, "Jim's won a medal too
For doin' somethin' brave at
Bullycourt." . . .
"Play on, play on," growls Begg. "It's up to you."

Then I reneges, an' trumps me partner's Ace,
An' Poole gets sudden
murder in 'is face.
"I'm sick uv this 'ere game," 'e grunts. "It's tame."
"Righto," I chips.
"Suppose we toss it in?"
Begg don't say nothin'; so we sling the game.

On my wife's face I twigs a tiny grin.
"Finished?" sez she, su'prised.
"Well, p'r'aps it's right.
It looks to me like 'earts was trumps to-night."
An' so they was. An', say, the game was grand.
Two hours we sat
while that ole mother told
About 'er Jim, 'is letter in 'er 'and,
An', on
'er face, a glowin' look that rolled
The miles all up that lie 'twixt
France an' 'ere,
An' found 'er son, an' brought 'im very near.
A game uv Bridge it was, with 'earts for trumps.
We was the
dummies, sittin' silent there.
I knoo the men, like me, was feelin'
chumps:
Foolin' with cards while this was in the air.
It took Doreen
to shove us in our place;
An' mother 'eld the lot, right from the Ace.
She told us 'ow 'e said 'e'd writ before,
An' 'ow the letters must lave
gone astray;
An' 'ow the stern ole father still was sore,
But looked

like 'e'd be soft'nin', day by day;
'Ow pride in Jim peeps out be'ind 'is
frown,
An' 'ow the ole fool 'opes to 'ide it down.
"I knoo," she sez. "I never doubted Jim.
But wot could any mother
say or do
When pryin' folks asked wot become uv 'im,
But drop 'er
eyes an' say she never knoo.
Now I can lift me 'ead to that sly glance,

An' say, 'Jim's fightin', with the rest, in France.'"
An' when she's gone, us four we don't require
No gossipin' to keep us
in imploy.
Ole Poole sits starin' 'ard into the fire.
I guessed that 'e
was thinkin' uv 'is boy,
'Oo's been right in it from the very start;
An'
Poole was thinkin' uv a father's part.
An' then 'e speaks: "This war 'as turned us 'ard.
Suppose, four year
ago, yeh said to me
That I'd sit 'eedless, starin' at a card
While that
ole mother told--Good Lord!" sez 'e
"It takes the women for to put us
wise
To playin' games in war-time," an' 'e sighs.
An' 'ere Doren sets out to put 'im right.
"There's games an' games,"
she sez. "When women starts
A hand at Bridge like she 'as played
to-night
It's Nature teachin' 'em to make it 'earts.
The other suits are
yours," she sez; "but then,
That's as it should be, seein' you are men."
"Maybe," sez Poole; an' both gits up to go.
I stands beside the door
when they are gone,
Watchin' their lantern swingin' to an' fro,
An'
'ears Begg's voice as they goes trudgin' on:
"If you 'ad led that Queen
we might 'ave made. . . ."
"Rubbidge!" shouts Poole. "You mucked it
with yer Spade!"
III. DAD
Dad
I've knowed ole Flood this last five year or more;
I knoo 'im when 'is
Syd went to the war.
A proud ole man 'e was. But I've watched 'im,


An' seen 'is look when people spoke uv Jim:
As sour a look