Jim of the Hills | Page 3

I'm workin' at a mill.

It isn't much; then then my folks knew that my chance was dim, Or
they might have named me Reginald instead of just plain Jim.
Just Jim the Hatter, Lonely Jim, the bloke that don't say much. I've
heard how people talk of me: the gossipers an' such.
An' they say I'm slow at givin'; but I've got my way of livin', An' I've
got my bit of farm-land an' a house that ain't a hutch.
An' tho it hurts if this man sneers or that misunderstands, I'm proud to
know that all I've got was earned with my two hands.
Suppose I don't go gay at times an' throw around the cash:
It's
knowin' want that frightened me from gettin' over rash.
I know I'm keen on savin'; but the pinchin' and the slavin' An' the
starvin' in the old days keeps a man from bein' flash.
I never treated neighbours mean or grudged a man a pound; But I ain't
out to buy loud cheers by throwin' it around.
An' after all - well, I don't know - it sums up much the same; No matter
how a man has lived, no matter what his aim -
If it's savin', if it's spendin' - all his life is just a blendin' Of the gay days
an' the grey days: an' he's got to play the game.
So where's the use of grumblin' if the game don't suit your bent? I tells
myself this all night - an' yet I ain't content.
There's days that sometimes come to me when toilin's simple bliss, An'
every little job becomes a joy I wouldn't miss:
When the labour seems like playin', an' I catch myself a-sayin', "Why,
it's grand to think a man gets paid for doin' things like this!"
But, after, came the lonely night, when I've looked back an' said, "To
think I have to slave like that to earn a bit of bread!"

When I'm out among the fellows, oh, the world's a place to prize; But
here, beside my lonely fire, the glamour of it dies.
Sittin' here I take to gettin' gloomy views of things, an' frettin' Till my
dog looks up, and wonders, with a question in his eyes.
He's been my mate for years an' years, an' things that folks don't see
Both good an' bad has been thrashed out by my old dog an' me.
Well he knows he's safe for sharin' while I've got a bite an' sup. When
I'm fit, he's full of frolic, laughin' like a silly pup
Out for fun. But when I'm feelin' sad at night, he just comes stealin' To
the fire an' stretches out there with his brown eyes lookin' up,
Lit with such a queer soft sadness that I feel it isn't fair My own private
little worries spoils the evenin' for the pair.
Here, to-night, I've sat an' told him - while his tail flopped on the floor -
Of particular conditions that have got me feelin' sore.
An' my present little worry is the matter of Ben Murray
An' his
sudden-like attentions to the widow at the store.
I ain't nothin' to the widow, as Ben Murray ought to see; But I hear he's
taken fight lately, with some reference to me.
I ain't nothin' to the widow - not as yet, at any rate;
Tho' a bloke can't
be dead certain what is like to be his fate.
But I own that I've been thinkin', an' there ain't no use in blinkin' At the
fact a man must settle down before it gets too late.
I ain't nothing to the widow - don't know that I ever will. Seems to me
it's awful reckless takin' lifelong chances - still...
Me an' my old dog's been talkin' quite a lot - of love an' things:
Weighin' matters; an' we reckon this here love is full of stings,

Fuller than a stingin' nettle. If a fellow wants to settle He needs solid
care an' comfort, not the stuff the poet sings.
Love an' all that talk, we reckon, is a silly sort of fake - What's a plain
man wantin' further if his wife can wash and bake?
I ain't nothin' to the widow ... Neither is Ben Murray though! An' he
won't find me unwillin' if he wants a little go.
I'm not over-keen on fightin'; but his boastin' and his skitin' Puts my
back up; an' his sneerin' often gets down pretty low.
Course, the widow's never mentioned - that's to say, by name, outright;
But I know what's gnawin' at him when I hear he's talking fight.
Talkin' fight an' acting' ugly: not reel earnest, half an' half - Shootin'
sneers into his smilin', slingin' spite nto his chaff.
Tho' a fight