VIII. Mar

  "'Er pore dear par," she sez, "'e kept a store";
  An' then she weeps an' stares 'ard at the floor.
    "'Twas thro' 'is death," she sez, "we wus rejuiced
  To this," she sez…An' then she weeps some more.

  "'Er Par," she sez, "me poor late 'usband, kept
  An 'ay an' corn store. 'E'd no faults ixcept
    'Im fallin' 'eavy orf a load o' charf
  W'ich—killed 'im—on the—-" 'Struth! But 'ow she wept.

  She blows 'er nose an' sniffs. "'E would 'a' made"
  She sez "a lot of money in the trade.
    But, 'im took orf so sudden-like, we found
  'E 'adn't kept 'is life insurince paid.

  "To think," she sez, "a child o' mine should be
  Rejuiced to workin' in a factory!
    If 'er pore Par 'e 'adn't died," she sobs…
  I sez, "It wus a bit o' luck for me."

  Then I gits red as 'ell, "That is—I mean,"
  I sez, "I mighter never met Doreen
  If 'e 'ad not"—an' 'ere I lose me block—"I 'ope,"
  I sez, "'e snuffed it quick and clean."

  An' that wus 'ow I made me first deboo.
  I'd dodged it cunnin' fer a month or two.
    Doreen she sez, "You'll 'ave to meet my Mar,
  SOME day," she sez. An' so I seen it thro'.

  I'd pictered some stern female in a cap
  Wot puts the fear o' Gawd into a chap.
  An' 'ere she wus, aweepin' in 'er tea
  An' drippin' moistcher like a leaky tap.

  Two dilly sorter dawgs made outer delf
  Stares 'ard at me frum orf the mantelshelf.
    I seemed to symperthise wiv them there pups;
  I felt so stiff an' brittle-like meself.

  Clobber? Me trosso, 'ead to foot, wus noo—
  Got up regardless, fer this interview.
    Stiff shirt, a Yankee soot split up the back,
  A tie wiv yeller spots an' stripes o' blue.

  Me cuffs kep' playin' wiv me nervis fears
  Me patent leathers nearly brought the tears
    An' there I sits wiv, "Yes, mum. Thanks. Indeed?"
  Me stand-up collar sorin' orf me ears.

  "Life's 'ard," she sez, an' then she brightens up.
  "Still, we 'ave alwus 'ad our bite and sup.
    Doreen's been SICH a help; she 'as indeed.
  Some more tea, Willy? 'Ave another cup."

  Willy! O 'ell! 'Ere wus a flamin' pill!
  A moniker that alwus makes me ill.
    "If it's the same to you, mum," I replies
  "I answer quicker to the name of Bill."

  Up goes 'er 'ands an' eyes, "That vulgar name!"
  No, Willy, but it isn't all the same,
    My fucher son must be respectable."
  "Orright," I sez, "I s'pose it's in the game."

  "Me fucher son," she sez, "right on frum this
  Must not take anythink I say amiss.
    I know me jooty be me son-in-lor;
  So, Willy, come an' give yer Mar a kiss."

  I done it. Tho' I dunno 'ow I did.
  "Dear boy," she sez, "to do as you are bid.
    Be kind to 'er," she sobs, "my little girl!"
  An' then I kiss Doreen. Sez she "Ah Kid!"

  Doreen! Ar 'ow 'er pretty eyes did shine.
  No sight on earth or 'Eaving's 'arf so fine,
    An' as they looked at me she seemed to say
  "I'm proud of 'im, I am, an' 'e is mine."

  There wus a sorter glimmer in 'er eye,
  An 'appy, nervis look, 'arf proud, 'arf shy;
    I seen 'er in me mind be'ind the cups
  In our own little kipsie, bye an' bye.

  An' then when Mar-in-lor an' me began
  To tork of 'ouse'old things an' scheme an' plan,
    A sudden thort fair jolts me where I live:
  "These is my wimmin folk! An' I'm a man!"

  It's wot they calls responsibility.
  All of a 'eap that feelin' come to me;
    An' somew'ere in me 'ead I seemed to feel
  A sneakin' sort o' wish that I was free.

  'Ere's me 'oo never took no 'eed o' life,
  Investin' in a mar-in-lor an' wife:
    Someone to battle fer besides meself,
  Somethink to love an' shield frum care and strife.

  It makes yeh solim when yeh come to think
  Wot love and marridge means. Ar, strike me pink!
    It ain't all sighs and kisses. It's yer life.
  An' 'ere's me tremblin' on the bloomin' brink.

  "'Er pore dead Par," she sez, an' gulps a sob.
  An' then I tells 'er 'ow I got a job,
    As storeman down at Jones' printin' joint,
  A decent sorter cop at fifty bob.

  Then things get 'ome-like; an' we torks till late,
  An' tries to tease Doreen to fix the date,
    An' she gits suddin soft and tender-like,
  An' cries a bit, when we parts at the gate.

  An' as I'm moochin' 'omeward frum the car
  A suddin notion stops me wiv a jar—
  Wot if Doreen, I thinks, should grow to be,
  A fat ole weepin' willer like 'er Mar!

  O, 'struth! It won't bear thinkin' of! It's crook!
  An' I'm a mean, unfeelin' dawg to look
    At things like that. Doreen's Doreen to me,
  The sweetest peach on w'ich a man wus shook.

  'Er "pore dear Par"…I s'pose 'e 'ad 'is day,
  An' kissed an' smooged an' loved 'er in 'is way.
  An' wed an' took 'is chances like a man—
  But, Gawd, this splicin' racket ain't all play.

  Love is a gamble, an' there ain't no certs.
  Some day, I s'pose, I'll git wise to the skirts,
    An' learn to take the bitter wiv the sweet…
  But, strike me purple! "Willy!" THAT'S wot 'urts.

IX. Pilot Cove

  Young friend," 'e sez…Young friend!
    Well, spare me days!
  Yeh'd think I wus 'is own white-'eaded boy—
  The queer ole finger, wiv 'is gentle ways.
    "Young friend," 'e sez, "I wish't yeh bofe great joy."
    The langwidge that them parson blokes imploy
  Fair tickles me. The way'e bleats an' brays!
        "Young friend," 'e sez.

  "Young friend," 'e sez…Yes, my Doreen an' me
    We're gettin' hitched, all straight an' on the square.
  Fer when I torks about the registry—
    O 'oly wars! yeh should 'a' seen 'er stare;
    "The registry?" she sez, "I wouldn't dare!
  I know a clergyman we'll go an' see"…
        "Young friend," 'e sez.

  "Young friend," 'e sez. An' then 'e chats me straight;
    An' spouts of death, an' 'ell, an' mortal sins.
  "You reckernize this step you contemplate
    Is grave? 'e sez. An' I jist stan's an' grins;
    Fer when I chips, Doreen she kicks me shins.
  "Yes, very 'oly is the married state,
        Young friend," 'e sez.

  "Young friend," 'e sez. An' then 'e mags a lot
    Of jooty an' the spiritchuil life,
  To which I didn't tumble worth a jot.
    "I'm sure," 'e sez, "as you will 'ave a wife
   'Oo'll 'ave a noble infl'ince on yer life.
  'Oo is 'er gardjin?" I sez, "'Er ole pot"—
        "Young friend!" 'e sez.

  "Young friend," 'e sez. "Oh fix yer thorts on 'igh!
    Orl marridges is registered up there!
  An' you must cleave unto 'er till yeh die,
    An' cherish 'er wiv love an' tender care.
    E'n in the days when she's no longer fair
  She's still yer wife," 'e sez. "Ribuck," sez I.
        "YOUNG FRIEND!" 'e sez.

  "Young friend," 'e sez—I sez, "Now, listen 'ere:
    This isn't one o' them impetchus leaps.
  There ain't no tart a 'undreth part so dear
    As 'er. She 'as me 'eart an' soul fer keeps!"
    An' then Doreen, she turns away an' weeps;
  But 'e jist smiles. "Yer deep in love, 'tis clear,
        Young friend," 'e sez.

  "Young friend," 'e sez—an' tears wus in 'is eyes—
    "Strive 'ard. Fer many, many years I've lived.
  An' I kin but recall wiv tears an' sighs
    The lives of some I've seen in marridge gived."
    "My Gawd!" I sez. "I'll strive as no bloke strivved!
  Fer don't I know I've copped a bonzer prize?"
        "Young friend," 'e sez.

  "Young friend," 'e sez. An' in 'is gentle way,
    'E pats the shoulder of my dear Doreen.
  "I've solem'ized grand weddin's in me day,
    But 'ere's the sweetest little maid I've seen.
    She's fit fer any man, to be 'is queen;
  An' you're more forchinit than you kin say,
        Young friend," 'e sez.

  "Young friend," 'e sez…A queer ole pilot bloke,
    Wiv silver 'air. The gentle way 'e dealt
  Wiv 'er, the soft an' kindly way 'e spoke
    To my Doreen, 'ud make a statcher melt.
    I tell yer, square an' all, I sorter felt
  A kiddish kind o' feelin' like I'd choke…
        "Young friend," 'e sez.

  "Young friend," 'e sez, "you two on Choosday week,
    Is to be joined in very 'oly bonds.
  To break them vows I 'opes yeh'll never seek;
    Fer I could curse them 'usbands 'oo absconds!"
    "I'll love 'er till I snuff it," I responds.
  "Ah, that's the way I likes to 'ear yeh speak,
        Young friend," 'e sez.

  "Young friend," 'e sez—an' then me 'and 'e grips
    "I wish't yeh luck, you an' yer lady fair.
  Sweet maid." An' sof'ly wiv 'is finger-tips,
    'E takes an' strokes me cliner's shinin' 'air.
    An' when I seen 'er standin' blushin' there,
  I turns an' kisses 'er, fair on the lips.
        "Young friend!" 'e sez.

X. Hitched

  "An'—wilt—yeh—take—this—woman—fer—to—be—
    Yer—weddid—wife?"…O, strike me! Will I wot?
  TAKE 'er? Doreen? 'E stan's there ARSTIN' me!
    As if 'e thort per'aps I'd rather not!
    TAKE 'er? 'E seemed to think 'er kind was got
  Like cigarette-cards, fer the arstin'. Still,
    I does me stunt in this 'ere hitchin' rot,
  An' speaks me piece: "Righto!" I sez, "I will."

  "I will," I sez. An' tho' a joyful shout
    Come from me bustin' 'eart—I know it did—
  Me voice got sorter mangled comin' out,
    An' makes me whisper like a frightened kid.
    "I will," I squeaks. An' I'd 'a' give a quid
  To 'ad it on the quite, wivout this fuss,
    An' orl the starin' crowd that Mar 'ad bid
  To see this solim hitchin' up of us.

  "Fer—rich-er—er—fer—por-er." So 'e bleats.
    "In—sick-ness—an'—in-ealth,"…An' there I stands,
  An' dunno'arf the chatter I repeats,
    Nor wot the 'ell to do wiv my two 'ands.
    But 'e don't 'urry puttin' on our brands—
  This white-'aired pilot-bloke—but gives it lip,
    Dressed in 'is little shirt, wiv frills an' bands.
  "In sick-ness—an'—in—" Ar! I got the pip!
  An' once I missed me turn; an' Ginger Mick,
    'Oo's my best-man, 'e ups an' beefs it out.
  "I will!" 'e 'owls; an' fetches me a kick.
    "Your turn to chin!" 'e tips wiv a shout.
    An' there I'm standin' like a gawky lout.
  (Aw, spare me! But I seemed to be ALL 'ands!)
    An' wonders wot 'e's goin' crook about,
  Wiv 'arf a mind to crack 'im where 'e stands.

  O, lumme! But ole Ginger was a trick!
    Got up regardless fer the solim rite.
  ('E 'awks the bunnies when 'e toils, does Mick)
    An' twice I saw 'im feelin' fer a light
    To start a fag; an' trembles lest'e might,
  Thro' force o' habit like. 'E's nervis too;
    That's plain, fer orl 'is air o' bluff an' skite;
  An' jist as keen as me to see it thro'.

  But, 'struth, the wimmin! 'Ow they love this frill!
    Fer Auntie Liz, an' Mar, o' course, wus there;
  An' Mar's two uncles' wives, an' Cousin Lil,
    An' 'arf a dozen more to grin and stare.
    I couldn't make me 'ands fit anywhere!
  I felt like I wus up afore the Beak!
    But my Doreen she never turns a 'air,
  Nor misses once when it's 'er turn to speak.

  Ar, strike! No more swell marridges fer me!
    It seems a blinded year afore 'e's done.
  We could 'a' fixed it in the registree
    Twice over 'fore this cove 'ad 'arf begun.
    I s'pose the wimmin git some sorter fun
  Wiv all this guyver, an' 'is nibs's shirt.
    But, seems to me, it takes the bloomin' bun,
  This stylish splicin' uv a bloke an' skirt.

  "To—be—yer—weddid—wife—" Aw, take a pull!
    Wot in the 'ell's 'e think I come there for?
  An' so 'e drawls an' drones until I'm full,
    An' wants to do a duck clean out the door.
    An' yet, fer orl 'is 'igh-falutin' jor,
  Ole Snowy wus a reel good-meanin' bloke.
    If 'twasn't fer the 'oly look 'e wore
  Yeh'd think 'e piled it on jist fer a joke.

  An', when at last 'e shuts 'is little book,
    I 'eaves a sigh that nearly bust me vest.
  But 'Eavens! Now 'ere's muvver goin' crook!
    An' sobbin' awful on me manly chest!
    (I wish she'd give them water-works a rest.)
  "My little girl!" she 'owls. "O, treat'er well!
    She's young—too young to leave 'er muvver's nest!"
  "Orright, ole chook," I nearly sez. Oh, 'ell!

  An' then we 'as a beano up at Mar's—
    A slap-up feed, wiv wine an' two big geese.
  Doreen sits next ter me, 'er eyes like stars.
    O, 'ow I wished their blessed yap would cease!
    The Parson-bloke 'e speaks a little piece,
  That makes me blush an' 'ang me silly 'ead.
    'E sez 'e 'opes our lovin' will increase—
  I LIKES that pilot fer the things 'e said.

  'E sez Doreen an' me is in a boat,
    An' sailin' on the matrimonial sea.
  'E sez as 'ow 'e 'opes we'll allus float
    In peace an' joy, from storm an' danger free.
    Then muvver gits to weepin' in 'er tea;
  An' Auntie Liz sobs like a winded colt;
    An' Cousin Lil comes 'round an' kisses me;
  Until I feel I'll 'AVE to do a bolt.

  Then Ginger gits end-up an' makes a speech—
    ('E'd 'ad a couple, but 'e wasn't shick.)
  "My cobber 'ere," 'e sez, "'as copped a peach!
    Of orl the barrer-load she is the pick!
    I 'opes 'e won't fergit 'is pals too quick
  As wus 'is frien's in olden days, becors,
    I'm trustin', later on," sez Ginger Mick,
  "To celebrate the chris'nin'."…'Oly wars!

  At last Doreen an' me we gits away,
    An' leaves 'em doin' nothin' to the scran.
  (We're honey-moonin' down beside the Bay.)
    I gives a 'arf a dollar to the man
    Wot drives the cab; an' like two kids we ran
  To ketch the train—Ah, strike! I could 'a' flown!
    We gets the carridge right agen the van.
  She whistles, jolts, an' starts…An' we're alone!

  Doreen an' me! My precious bit o' fluff!
    Me own true weddid wife!…An' we're alone!
  She seems so frail, an' me so big an' rough—
    I dunno wot this feelin' is that's grown
    Inside me 'ere that makes me feel I own
  A thing so tender like I fear to squeeze
    Too 'ard fer fear she'll break…Then, wiv a groan
  I starts to 'ear a coot call, "Tickets, please!"

  You could 'a' outed me right on the spot!
    I wus so rattled when that porter spoke.
  Fer, 'struth! them tickets I 'ad fair forgot!
    But 'e jist laughs, an' takes it fer a joke.
    "We must ixcuse," 'e sez, "new-married folk."
  An' I pays up, an' grins, an' blushes red….
  It shows 'ow married life improves a bloke:
  If I'd bin single I'd 'a' punched 'is head!

XI. Beef Tea

  She never magged; she never said no word;
  But sat an' looked at me an' never stirred.
    I could 'a' bluffed it out if she 'ad been
  Fair narked, an' let me 'ave it wiv 'er tongue;
  But silence told me 'ow 'er 'eart wus wrung.
        Poor 'urt Doreen!

  Gorstruth! I'd sooner fight wiv fifty men
  Than git one look like that frum 'er agen!

  She never moved; she never spoke no word;
  That 'urt look in 'er eyes, like some scared bird:
    "'Ere is the man I loved," it seemed to say.
  "'E's mine, this crawlin' thing, an' I'm 'is wife;
  Tied up fer good; an' orl me joy in life
        Is chucked away!"
  If she 'ad bashed me I'd 'a felt no 'urt!
  But 'ere she treats me like—like I wus dirt.

  'Ow is a man to guard agen that look?
  Fer other wimmin, when the'r blokes go crook,
    An' lobs 'ome wiv the wages uv a jag,
  They smashes things an' carries on a treat
  An' 'owls an' scolds an' wakes the bloomin' street
        Wiv noisy mag.
  But 'er—she never speaks; she never stirs…
  I drops me bundle…An' the game is 'ers.

  Jist two months wed! Eight weeks uv married bliss
  Wiv my Doreen, an' now it's come to this!
    Wot wus I thinkin' uv? Gawd! I ain't fit
  To kiss the place 'er little feet 'as been!
  'Er that I called me wife, me own Doreen!
        Fond dreams'as flit;
  Love's done a bunk, an' joy is up the pole;
  An' shame an' sorrer's roostin' in me soul.

  'Twus orl becors uv Ginger Mick—the cow!
  (I wish't I 'ad 'im 'ere to deal wiv now!
    I'd pass 'im one, I would! 'E ain't no man!)
  I meets 'im Choosdee ev'nin' up the town.
  "Wot O," 'e chips me. "Kin yeh keep one down?"
         I sez I can.
  We 'as a couple; then meets three er four
  Flash coves I useter know, an' 'as some more.

  "'Ow are yeh on a little gamble, Kid?"
  Sez Ginger Mick. "Lars' night I'm on four quid.
    Come 'round an' try yer luck at Steeny's school."
  "No," sez me conscience. Then I thinks, "Why not?
  An' buy 'er presents if I wins a pot?
        A blazin' fool
  I wus. Fer 'arf a mo' I 'as a fight;
  Then conscience skies the wipe…Sez I "Orright."

  Ten minutes later I was back once more,
  Kip in me 'and, on Steeny Isaac's floor,
    Me luck was in an' I wus 'eadin' good.
  Yes, back agen amongst the same old crew!
  An' orl the time down in me 'eart I knew
        I never should…
  Nex' thing I knows it's after two o'clock—
  Two in the mornin'! An' I've done me block!

  "Wot odds?" I thinks. "I'm in fer it orright."
  An' so I stops an' gambles orl the night;
    An' bribes me conscience wiv the gilt I wins.
  But when I comes out in the cold, 'ard dawn
  I know I've crooled me pitch; me soul's in pawn.
        My flamin' sins
  They 'its me in a 'eap right where I live;
  Fer I 'ave broke the solim vow I give.

  She never magged; she never said no word.
  An' when I speaks, it seems she never 'eard.
    I could 'a' sung a nim, I feels so gay!
  If she 'ad only roused I might 'a' smiled.
  She jist seems 'urt an' crushed; not even riled.
        I turns away,
  An' yanks me carkis out into the yard,
  Like some whipped pup; an' kicks meself reel 'ard.

  An' then, I sneaks to bed, an' feels dead crook.
  Fer golden quids I couldn't face that look
    That trouble in the eyes uv my Doreen.
  Aw, strike! Wot made me go an' do this thing?
  I feel jist like a chewed up bit of string,
        An' rotten mean!
  Fer 'arf an hour I lies there feelin' cheap;
  An' then I s'pose, I muster fell asleep….

  "'Ere, Kid, drink this"…I wakes, an' lifts me 'ead,
  An' sees 'er standin' there beside the bed;
    A basin in 'er 'ands; an' in 'er eyes
  (Eyes that wiv unshed tears is shinin' wet)—
  The sorter look I never shall ferget,
        Until I dies.
  "'Ere, Kid, drink this," she sez, an' smiles at me.
  I looks—an' spare me days! It WAS BEEF TEA!

  Beef tea! She treats me like a hinvaleed!
  Me! that 'as caused 'er lovin' 'eart to bleed.
    It 'urts me worse than maggin' fer a week!
  'Er! 'oo 'ad right to turn dead sour on me,
  Fergives like that, an' feeds me wiv beef tea…
         I tries to speak;
  An' then—I ain't ashamed o' wot I did—
  I 'ides me face…an' blubbers like a kid.