Jim of the Hills | Page 8

go out and get some air
An'
have a word with old Bob Blair.
Bob's livin' lonely, same as me;
But he don't take to frettin' so
An' gettin' megrims after tea.
He reads a lot at night, I know;
His hut has books half up the wall

That I don't tumble to at all.

Books all about them ancient blokes
That lived a thousand years ago:
Philosophers an' funny folk
What he sees in them I don't know.
There ain't much fun, when all is
said,
In chap that is so awful dead.
He put his book down when I came,
He took his specs off, patient-like.
He's been in Rome; an' who can
blame
The old man if he gets the spike
To be jerked back so suddenly
By
some glum-lookin' coot like me.
At first he looks at me quite dazed,
As tho' 'twas hard to recognize
The silly fool at which he gazed;
An' then a smile come in his eyes:
"Why, Jim," he says. "Still feelin'
blue?
Kiss her, an' laugh!" . . . But I says, "Who?"
"Why, who, if not the widow, lad?"
But I says, "Widows ain't no go."
"What woman, then, makes you so
sad?"
I coughs a bit an' says, "Dunno."
He looked at me, then old Bob Blair

He ran his fingers through his hair.
"God help us, but the case is bad!
An' men below, an; saints above
Look with mixed feelin's, sour an'
sad,
Upon a fool in love with love.
Go, find her, lad, an' be again,
Fit to
associate with men.

"Don't leave yourself upon the shelf:
It's bad for man to live alone."
"Hold on," says I. "What ails yourself?
What are you doin' on your own?"
Quickly he turned away his head.

"That's neither here nor there," he said.
I saw I'd made a clumsy break;
An' tied to cover it with talk
Of anything, for old Blair's sake.
He don't reply; but when I'd walk
Outside he says, "What's this I hear

About the mill boys actin' queer?"
So then we yarns about the strike,
An' old Bob Brown frowns an' shakes his head.
"There's something
there I hardly like;
The boss has acted fair," he said.
"Eight years I've toiled here
constantly,
An' boss an' friend he's been to me.
"I know he's up against it bad;
Stintin' himself to pay the men.
Don't listen to this tattle, lad,
An' leave that dirty work to Ben.
He tries to play on others need;
It's
partly devil, partly greed.
"Ben's not a reel bad lot at heart,
But ignorant an' dull of sight,
An' crazed by these new creeds that
start
An' grow like mushrooms, overnight;
An' this strange greed that's
spread the more
Since the great sacrifice of war.

"Greed everywhere!" sighed old man Blair.
"Master an' man have caught the craze;
An' those who yesterday
would share
Like brothers, now spend all their days
Snatchin' for gain - the great,
the small.
And, of, folly of it all!"
He tapped the small book by his hand.
"Two thousand years ago they knew
That those who think an'
understand
Can make their wants but very few.
Two thousand years they taught

That happiness can not be bought."
"Progress?" he shouted. "Bah! A Fig!
Where are the things that count or last
In buildin' something very big
Or goin' somewhere very fast?
We put the horse behind the cart;

For where's your progress of the heart?
"Great wisdom lived long years ago,
An' yet we say that we progress.
The paint an' tinsel of our show
Are men more generous, or kind?
Then where's your progress of the
mind?"
(I think Bob Blair's a trifle mad;
They say so, too, around these parts;
An' he can be, when he's reel
bad,
A holy terror once he starts.
Dare say it's readin' books an' such.

Thank God I never read too much!)

I says I'm sure I don't know
Where all this progress gets to now.
He smiles a bit an' answers low,
"Maybe you'll find out, lad, somehow.
But talkin' makes my old head
whirl;
So you be off, an' - find that girl."
I says Good night, an' out I goes;
But I was hardly at the door
When his old specs is on his nose,
An' his book in his hand once more;
An', as I take the track for home,

Bob Blair goes back to Ancient Rome.
VII. THE WOOER
I nearly fell fair in my tracks.
I'm trudgin' homeward with my axe
When I come on her suddenly.
"I wonder if I'm lost?" says she.
"It's
risky on such roads as this."
I lifts my hat an' says, "Yes, miss."
I knew 'twas rude for me to stare,
But, oh, that sunlight in her hair!
"I wonder if I'm lost? says she,
An' gives a smile that staggers me.
"An' yet, it wouldn't matter much
Supposing that I was, with such
A
glorious green world about,
With bits of blue sky peepin' out.
Do you think there will be a fog?"
"No, miss," says I, an' pats my
dog.
"Oh, what a dear old dog!" says