Jim of the Hills. C. J. Dennis

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      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 talked 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 nothin' 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 an' 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' an' 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 talkin' fight.

       Talkin' fight an' actin' ugly: not reel-earnest, half an' half—

       Shootin' sneers into his smilin', slingin' spite into his chaff.

      ⁠Tho' a fight I'm never shirkin', when I'm with the fellows, workin',

       I can give him good as he does, an' just take it with a laugh.

      ⁠But at evenin' when I'm broodin', I chew over all the lot.

      ⁠Till his jokes swell into insults an' his hintin' makes me hot.

       He can have it—if he wants it! He won't be too long denied!

       But I've heard he's mentioned fivers — wants to fight five pounds a side.

      ⁠If I'm licked, of course, I lose it; an' that fool will go an' booze it:

      ​

      Throw it clean into the gutter with the other cash he's shied.

      ⁠I been told to-day he's sayin' that his fiver saves his skin…

      ⁠Wonder what he meant, the blighter, that should make the fellows grin: …

       Jumpin' Moses! … He can have it! Anywhere an' anywhen! Fivers? Let him talk of fivers! Holy wars, I'll make it ten! ⁠He'll get fightin', too, in plenty. If he likes I'll make it twenty! We shall see whose skin is safest an' whose hide is toughest then. ⁠I ain't got no grudge against him—only what the rotter's said. ⁠I ain't nothin' to the widow! … Here, old dog, we'll get to bed.