[102]
Fer Dave an’ me, we never knoo
Fer Dave an’ me, we never knoo
The rights of any sect,
Or ’ow these different pads cris-crossed,
And things in that respect;
Or, if we’d heer’d it years afore,
We didn’t ricollect.
I don’t say as I’d lift my ’at,
And cringe, and beg, and crave,
Nor don’t want them to speechify
About no soul ter save;
But there’s the dust! if they’ll pint out
Which track was took by Dave.
[Decoration: Horse-powered mining]
[103]
AT PENNYWEIGHT FLAT.
“Do you have any luck at the diggins?” I said
To a dryblower grizzled and grey—
“Does the nebulous fossicker’s star ever shed
On your shaker, one flickering ray?
Does Dame Fortune e’er toddle your way?”
But he deigned not a look nor an answer—not then—
And I felt most decidedly hurt,
And I marked, as he leaned o’er the hopper again,
To examine the rubble and dirt,
He had sugar-bag sleeves to his shirt.
Oh, his boot soles were tied to the uppers with string,
And his beard swept his chest like a mat,
And I noted his eyes were as clear as the Spring—
(That is, Springtime at Pennyweight Flat)—
He had corks, also, strung to his hat.
But I flushed to the hair, as he tossed in his hand
A large slug, from the gravel he mined,
And a midwinter smile I did not understand
Lit his weatherworn dial and lined,
As he carelessly toyed with his find.
[104]
Then I hurried across to congratulate Dad,
Then I hurried across to congratulate Dad,
(Oh the slug! and its wondrous gold-red!)
And I spoke of the marvellous fortune he had,
When he wakened that sprite from its bed—
“Pshaw! A fly-speck—a fly-speck!”—he said.
And he sighed as he spoke, and his eyes gathered damp
(Ah, the depth of the pathos they wore!)
“I have plenty like that sowed away in the camp,
And because you’re true grit to the core
You may have the durned thing for a ‘score’!”
Quick I dived for my purse, and I counted the coin,
Ere I greedily gathered my prize—
Then our hands were as hands of old friends, when they join
And our eyes met as brotherly eyes—
Oh, we wept, as we mingled good-byes!
“What’s it worth? What’s it worth?” to the banker I cried,
As I came through the door at a run,
And I brushed seven customers waiting aside,
And the banker chap calmly begun,
“I should say about nine pounds a ton.”