Page:The moods of Ginger Mick.djvu/32

"'Enpecked!" 'e sez. An' then, "Ar, I dunno.
  I wouldn't mind if I wus in yer place.
I've 'arf a mind to give cold tea a go.
  It's no game, pourin' snake-juice in yer face.
But, lad, I 'ave to, wiv the thirst I got.
I'm goin' over now to stop a pot."

'E goes acrost to find a pint a 'ome;
  An' meets a pal an' keeps another down.
Ten minutes later, when 'e starts to roam
  Back to the markit, wiv an ugly frown,
'E sprags a soljer bloke 'oo's passin' by.
An' sez 'e'd like to dot 'im in the eye.

"Your sort," sez Mick, "don't know yer silly mind!
  They lead yeh like a sheep; it's time yeh woke—
The 'eads is makin' piles out uv your kind!"
  "Aw, git yer 'ead read!" sez the soljer bloke.
'Struth! 'e wus willin' wus that Kharki chap;
I 'ad me work cut out to stop a scrap.

An' as the soljer fades acrost the street,
  Mick strikes a light an' sits down on 'is truck,
An' chews 'is fag—a sign 'is nerve is beat—
  An' swears a bit, an' sez 'e's done 'is luck.
'E grouches there ten minutes, maybe more.
Then sez quite sudden, "Blarst the flamin' war!"