'Ome-comfort, peace, the picter uv me wife
'Appy at work, me neighbours gathered round
All friendly-like—wot more is there in life?
I've searched a bit, but better I ain't found.
Doreen, she seems content, but in 'er eye
I've seen reel pity when the talk gits 'igh.
This ev'nin' we 'ad started off reel 'ot:
Two little slams, an' Poole, without a score,
Still lookin' sore about the cards 'e'd got—
When, sudden-like, a knock comes to the door.
"A visitor," growls Begg, "to crool our game."
An' looks at me, as though I was to blame.
Jist as Doreen goes out, I seen 'er grin.
"Deal 'em up quick!" I whispers. "Grab yer 'and,
An' look reel occupied when they comes in.
Per'aps they'll 'ave the sense to understand.
If it's a man, maybe 'e'll make a four;
But if"—Then Missus Flood comes in the door.
'Twas ole Mar Flood, 'er face wrapped in a smile.
"Now, boys," she sez, "don't let me spoil yer game.
I'll jist chat with Doreen a little while;
But if yeh stop I'll be ashamed I came."
An' then she waves a letter in 'er 'and.
Sez she, "Our Jim's a soldier! Ain't it grand?"
