"Good boy," sez Poole. "Let's see. I make it 'earts."
"Doubled!" shouts Begg. . . . "An' 'e's been in a fight,"
Sez Missus Flood, "out in them furrin' parts.
French, I suppose. I can't pronounce it right.
'E's been once wounded, somewhere in the leg. . . ."
" 'Ere, Bill! Yeh gone to sleep?" asks Peter Begg.
I plays me Queen uv Spades; an' plays 'er bad.
Begg snorts. . . . "My boy," sighs Missus Flood. "My Jim." . . .
"King 'ere," laughs Poole. "That's the last Spade I 'ad." . . .
Doreen she smiles: "I'm glad yeh've 'eard from 'im.". . .
"We're done," groans Begg. "Why did yeh nurse yer Ace?" . . .
"My Jim!" An' there was sunlight in 'er face.
"I always thought a lot uv Jim, I did,"
Sez Begg. "'E does yeh credit. 'Ere, your deal."
"That's so," sez Poole. "'E was an all-right kid.
No trumps? I'm sorry that's the way yeh feel.
'Twill take yeh all yer time to make the book." . . .
An' then Doreen sends me a wireless look.
I gets the S.O.S.; but Begg is keen.
"My deal," 'e yaps. "Wot rotten cards I get."
Ole Missus Flood sits closer to Doreen.
"The best," she whispers, "I ain't told yeh yet."
