Chapter 2

An' then, when 'e's fair orf 'is top wiv love, When she 'as got 'im good an' 'ad 'er fun, She slings 'im over like a carst-orf glove, To let the other tarts see wot she's done. All vanity, deceit an' 'eartless kid! I orter known; an', spare me days, I did!

I knoo. But when I looked into 'er eyes-- Them shinin' eyes o' blue all soft wiv love Wiv MIMIC love--they seemed to 'ipnertize. I wus content to place 'er 'igh above. I wus content to make of 'er a queen; An' so she seemed them days...O, 'struth!...Doreen!

I knoo. But when I stroked 'er glossy 'air Wiv rev'rint 'ands, 'er cheek pressed close to mine, Me lonely life seemed robbed of all its care; I dreams me dreams, an' 'ope begun to shine. An' when she 'eld 'er lips fer me to kiss... Ar, wot's the use? I'm done wiv all o' this!

Wimmin!...Oh, I ain't jealous! Spare me days! Me? Jealous uv a knock-kneed coot like that! 'Im! Wiv 'is cute stror 'at an' pretty ways! I'd be a mug to squeal or whip the cat. I'm glad, I am--glad 'cos I know I'm free! There ain't no call to tork o' jealousy.

I tells meself I'm well out o' the game; Fer look, I mighter married 'er-an' then.... Ar strike! 'Er voice wus music when my name Wus on 'er lips on them glad ev'nin's when We useter meet. An' then to think she'd go... No, I ain't jealous--but--Ar, I dunno!

I took a derry on this stror 'at coot First time I seen 'im dodgin' round Doreen. 'Im, wiv 'is giddy tie an' Yankee soot, Ferever yappin' like a tork-machine About "The Hoffis" where 'e 'ad a grip.... The way 'e smiled at 'er give me the pip!

She sez I stoushed 'im, when I promised fair To chuck it, even to a friendly spar. Stoushed 'im! I never roughed 'is pretty 'air! I only spanked 'im gentle, fer 'is mar. If I'd 'a' jabbed 'im once, there would 'a' been An inquest; an' I sez so to Doreen.

I mighter took an' cracked 'im in the street, When she was wiv 'im there lars' Fridee night. But don't I keep me temper when we met? An' don't I raise me lid an' act perlite? I only jerks me elbow in 'is ribs, To give the gentle office to 'is nibs.

Stoushed 'im! I owns I met 'im on the quiet, An' worded 'im about a small affair; An' when 'e won't put up 'is 'ands to fight-- ('E sez, "Fer public brawls 'e didn't care")-- I lays 'im 'cross me knee, the mother's joy, An' smacks 'im 'earty, like a naughty boy.

An' now Doreen she sez I've broke me vow, An' mags about this coot's pore, "wounded pride." An' then, o' course, we 'as a ding-dong row, Wiv 'ot an' stormy words on either side. She sez I done it outer jealousy, An' so, we parts fer ever--'er an' me.

Me jealous? Jealous of that cross-eyed cow! I set 'im 'cos I couldn't sight 'is face. 'Is yappin' fair got on me nerves, some'ow. I couldn't stand 'im 'angin' round 'er place. A coot like that!...But it don't matter much, She's welkim to 'im if she fancies such.

I swear I'll never track wiv 'er no more; I'll never look on 'er side o' the street-- Unless she comes an' begs me pardin for Them things she said to me in angry 'eat. She can't ixpeck fer me to smooge an' crawl. I ain't at ANY woman's beck an' call.

Wimmin! I've took a tumble to their game. I've got the 'ole bang tribe o' cliners set! The 'ole world over they are all the same: Crook to the core the bunch of 'em--an' yet We could 'a' been that 'appy, 'er an' me... But, wot's it matter? Ain't I glad I'm free?

A bloke wiv commin-sense 'as got to own There's little 'appiness in married life. The smoogin' game is better left alone, Fer tarts is few that makes the ideel wife. An' them's the sort that loves wivout disguise, An' thinks the sun shines in their 'usban's' eyes.

But when the birds is matin' in the spring, An' when the tender leaves begin to bud, A feelin' comes--a dilly sorter thing That seems to sorter swamp 'im like a flood. An' when the fever 'ere inside 'im burns, Then freedom ain't the thing fer wot 'e yearns.

But I 'ave chucked it all. An' yet--I own I dreams me dreams when soft Spring breezes stirs; An' often, when I'm moonin' 'ere alone, A lispin' maid, wiv 'air an' eyes like 'ers, 'Oo calls me "dad," she climbs upon me knee, An' yaps 'er pretty baby tork to me.

I sorter see a little 'ouse, it seems, Wiv someone waitin' for me at the gate... Ar, where's the sense in dreamin' barmy dreams, I've dreamed before, and nearly woke too late. Sich 'appiness could never last fer long, We're strangers--'less she owns that she was wrong.

To call 'er back I'll never lift a 'and; She'll never 'ear frum me by word or sign. Per'aps, some day, she'll come to understand The mess she's made o' this 'ere life o' mine. Oh, I ain't much to look at, I admit. But'im! The knock-kneed, swivel-eyed misfit?...

VII. The Siren

She sung a song; an' I sat silent there, Wiv bofe 'ands grippin' 'ard on me chair; Me 'eart, that yesterdee I thort wus broke Wiv 'umpin sich a 'eavy load o' care, Come swelling in me throat like I would choke. I felt 'ot blushes climbin' to me 'air.

'Twas like that feelin' when the Spring wind breaves Sad music in the sof'ly rustlin' leaves. An' when a bloke sits down an' starts to chew Crook thorts, wivout quite knowin' why 'e grieves Fer things 'e's done 'e didn't ort to do-- Fair winded wiv the 'eavy sighs 'e 'eaves.

She sung a song; an' orl at once I seen The kind o' crool an' 'eartless broot I been. In ev'ry word I read it like a book-- The slanter game I'd played wiv my Doreen-- I 'eard it in 'er song; an' in 'er look I seen wot made me feel fair rotten mean.

Poor, 'urt Doreen! My tender bit o' fluff! Ar, men don't understand; they're fur too rough; Their ways is fur too coarse wiv lovin' tarts; They never gives 'em symperthy enough. They treats 'em 'arsh; they tramples on their 'earts, Becos their own crool 'earts is leather-tough.

She sung a song; an' orl them bitter things That chewin' over lovers' quarrils brings Guv place to thorts of sorrer an' remorse. Like when some dilly punter goes an' slings 'Is larst, lone deener on some stiffened 'orse, An' learns them vain regrets wot 'urts an' stings.

'Twas at a beano where I lobs along To drown them memories o' fancied wrong. I swears I never knoo that she'd be there. But when I met 'er eye--O, 'struth, 'twas strong! 'Twas bitter strong, that jolt o' dull despair! 'Er look o' scorn!...An' then, she sung a song.

The choon was one o' them sad, mournful things That ketch yeh in the bellers 'ere, and brings Tears to yer eyes. The words was uv a tart 'Oo's trackin' wiv a silly coot 'oo slings 'Er love aside, an' breaks 'er tender 'eart.... But 'twasn't that; it was the way she sings.

To 'ear 'er voice!...A bloke 'ud be a log 'Oo kep' 'is block. Me mind wus in a fog Of sorrer for to think 'ow I wus wrong; Ar, I 'ave been a fair ungrateful 'og! The feelin' that she put into that song 'Ud melt the 'eart-strings of a chiner dog.

I listens wiv me 'eart up in me throat; I drunk in ev'ry word an' ev'ry note. Tears trembles in 'er voice when she tells 'ow That tart snuffed out becos 'e never wrote. An' then I seen 'ow I wus like that cow. Wiv suddin shame me guilty soul wus smote.

Doreen she never looked my way; but stood 'Arf turned away, an' beefed it out reel good, Until she sang that bit about the grave; "Too late 'e learned 'e 'ad misunderstood!" An' then--Gorstrooth! The pleadin' look she gave Fair in me face 'ud melt a'eart o' wood.

I dunno 'ow I seen that evenin' thro'. They muster thort I was 'arf shick, I knoo. But I 'ad 'urt Doreen wivout no call; I seen me dooty, wot I 'ad to do. O, strike! I could 'a' blubbed before 'em all! But I sat tight, an' never cracked a boo.

An' when at larst the tarts they makes a rise, A lop-eared coot wiv 'air down to 'is eyes 'E 'ooks on to Doreen, an' starts to roam Fer 'ome an' muvver. I lines up an' cries, "'An's orf! I'm seein' this 'ere cliner 'ome!" An' there we left 'im, gapin' wiv surprise.

She never spoke; she never said no word; But walked beside me like she never 'eard. I swallers 'ard, an' starts to coax an' plead, I sez I'm dead ashamed o' wot's occurred. She don't reply; she never takes no 'eed; Jist stares before 'er like a startled bird.

I tells 'er, never can no uvver tart Be 'arf wot she is, if we 'ave to part. I tells 'er that me life will be a wreck. It ain't no go. But when I makes a start To walk away, 'er arms is roun' me neck. "Ah, Kid!" she sobs. "Yeh nearly broke me 'eart!"

I dunno wot I done or wot I said. But 'struth! I'll not forgit it till I'm dead-- That night when 'ope back in me brisket lobs: 'Ow my Doreen she lays 'er little 'ead Down on me shoulder 'ere, an' sobs an' sobs; An' orl the lights goes sorter blurred an' red.

Say, square an' all--It don't seem right, some'ow, To say such things; but wot I'm feelin' now 'As come at times, I s'pose, to uvver men When you 'ave 'ad a reel ole ding-dong row, Say, ain't it bonzer makin' up agen? Straight wire, it's almost worth...Ar, I'm a cow!

To think I'd ever seek to 'arm a 'air Of 'er dear 'ead agen! My oath, I swear No more I'll roust on 'er in angry 'eat! But still, she never seemed to me so fair; She never wus so tender or so sweet As when she smooged beneath the lamplight there.

She's never been so lovin' wiv 'er gaze; So gentle wiv 'er pretty wimmin's ways. I tells 'er she's me queen, me angel, too. "Ah, no, I ain't no angel, Kid," she says. "I'm jist a woman, an' I loves yeh true! An' so I'll love yeh all me mortal days!"

She sung a song....'Ere, in me barmy style, I sets orl tarts; for in me hour o' trile Me soul was withered be a woman's frown, An' broodin' care come roostin' on me dile. She sung a song....Me 'eart, wiv woe carst down, Wus raised to 'Eaven be a woman's smile.

VIII. Mar

"'Er pore dear par," she sez, "'e kept a store"; An' then she weeps an' stares 'ard at the floor. "'Twas thro' 'is death," she sez, "we wus rejuiced To this," she sez...An' then she weeps some more.

"'Er Par," she sez, "me poor late 'usband, kept An 'ay an' corn store. 'E'd no faults ixcept 'Im fallin' 'eavy orf a load o' charf W'ich--killed 'im--on the---" 'Struth! But 'ow she wept.

She blows 'er nose an' sniffs. "'E would 'a' made" She sez "a lot of money in the trade. But, 'im took orf so sudden-like, we found 'E 'adn't kept 'is life insurince paid.

"To think," she sez, "a child o' mine should be Rejuiced to workin' in a factory! If 'er pore Par 'e 'adn't died," she sobs... I sez, "It wus a bit o' luck for me."

Then I gits red as 'ell, "That is--I mean," I sez, "I mighter never met Doreen If 'e 'ad not"--an' 'ere I lose me block--"I 'ope," I sez, "'e snuffed it quick and clean."

An' that wus 'ow I made me first deboo. I'd dodged it cunnin' fer a month or two. Doreen she sez, "You'll 'ave to meet my Mar, SOME day," she sez. An' so I seen it thro'.

I'd pictered some stern female in a cap Wot puts the fear o' Gawd into a chap. An' 'ere she wus, aweepin' in 'er tea An' drippin' moistcher like a leaky tap.

Two dilly sorter dawgs made outer delf Stares 'ard at me frum orf the mantelshelf. I seemed to symperthise wiv them there pups; I felt so stiff an' brittle-like meself.

Clobber? Me trosso, 'ead to foot, wus noo-- Got up regardless, fer this interview. Stiff shirt, a Yankee soot split up the back, A tie wiv yeller spots an' stripes o' blue.

Me cuffs kep' playin' wiv me nervis fears Me patent leathers nearly brought the tears An' there I sits wiv, "Yes, mum. Thanks. Indeed?" Me stand-up collar sorin' orf me ears.

"Life's 'ard," she sez, an' then she brightens up. "Still, we 'ave alwus 'ad our bite and sup. Doreen's been SICH a help; she 'as indeed. Some more tea, Willy? 'Ave another cup."

Willy! O 'ell! 'Ere wus a flamin' pill! A moniker that alwus makes me ill. "If it's the same to you, mum," I replies "I answer quicker to the name of Bill."

Up goes 'er 'ands an' eyes, "That vulgar name!" No, Willy, but it isn't all the same, My fucher son must be respectable." "Orright," I sez, "I s'pose it's in the game."

"Me fucher son," she sez, "right on frum this Must not take anythink I say amiss. I know me jooty be me son-in-lor; So, Willy, come an' give yer Mar a kiss."

I done it. Tho' I dunno 'ow I did. "Dear boy," she sez, "to do as you are bid. Be kind to 'er," she sobs, "my little girl!" An' then I kiss Doreen. Sez she "Ah Kid!"

Doreen! Ar 'ow 'er pretty eyes did shine. No sight on earth or 'Eaving's 'arf so fine, An' as they looked at me she seemed to say "I'm proud of 'im, I am, an' 'e is mine."

There wus a sorter glimmer in 'er eye, An 'appy, nervis look, 'arf proud, 'arf shy; I seen 'er in me mind be'ind the cups In our own little kipsie, bye an' bye.

An' then when Mar-in-lor an' me began To tork of 'ouse'old things an' scheme an' plan, A sudden thort fair jolts me where I live: "These is my wimmin folk! An' I'm a man!"

It's wot they calls responsibility. All of a 'eap that feelin' come to me; An' somew'ere in me 'ead I seemed to feel A sneakin' sort o' wish that I was free.

'Ere's me 'oo never took no 'eed o' life, Investin' in a mar-in-lor an' wife: Someone to battle fer besides meself, Somethink to love an' shield frum care and strife.

It makes yeh solim when yeh come to think Wot love and marridge means. Ar, strike me pink! It ain't all sighs and kisses. It's yer life. An' 'ere's me tremblin' on the bloomin' brink.

"'Er pore dead Par," she sez, an' gulps a sob. An' then I tells 'er 'ow I got a job, As storeman down at Jones' printin' joint, A decent sorter cop at fifty bob.

Then things get 'ome-like; an' we torks till late, An' tries to tease Doreen to fix the date, An' she gits suddin soft and tender-like, An' cries a bit, when we parts at the gate.

An' as I'm moochin' 'omeward frum the car A suddin notion stops me wiv a jar-- Wot if Doreen, I thinks, should grow to be, A fat ole weepin' willer like 'er Mar!

O, 'struth! It won't bear thinkin' of! It's crook! An' I'm a mean, unfeelin' dawg to look At things like that. Doreen's Doreen to me, The sweetest peach on w'ich a man wus shook.

'Er "pore dear Par"...I s'pose 'e 'ad 'is day, An' kissed an' smooged an' loved 'er in 'is way. An' wed an' took 'is chances like a man-- But, Gawd, this splicin' racket ain't all play.

Love is a gamble, an' there ain't no certs. Some day, I s'pose, I'll git wise to the skirts, An' learn to take the bitter wiv the sweet... But, strike me purple! "Willy!" THAT'S wot 'urts.

IX. Pilot Cove

Young friend," 'e sez...Young friend! Well, spare me days! Yeh'd think I wus 'is own white-'eaded boy-- The queer ole finger, wiv 'is gentle ways. "Young friend," 'e sez, "I wish't yeh bofe great joy." The langwidge that them parson blokes imploy Fair tickles me. The way'e bleats an' brays! "Young friend," 'e sez.

"Young friend," 'e sez...Yes, my Doreen an' me We're gettin' hitched, all straight an' on the square. Fer when I torks about the registry-- O 'oly wars! yeh should 'a' seen 'er stare; "The registry?" she sez, "I wouldn't dare! I know a clergyman we'll go an' see"... "Young friend," 'e sez.

"Young friend," 'e sez. An' then 'e chats me straight; An' spouts of death, an' 'ell, an' mortal sins. "You reckernize this step you contemplate Is grave? 'e sez. An' I jist stan's an' grins; Fer when I chips, Doreen she kicks me shins. "Yes, very 'oly is the married state, Young friend," 'e sez.

"Young friend," 'e sez. An' then 'e mags a lot Of jooty an' the spiritchuil life, To which I didn't tumble worth a jot. "I'm sure," 'e sez, "as you will 'ave a wife 'Oo'll 'ave a noble infl'ince on yer life. 'Oo is 'er gardjin?" I sez, "'Er ole pot"-- "Young friend!" 'e sez.

"Young friend," 'e sez. "Oh fix yer thorts on 'igh! Orl marridges is registered up there! An' you must cleave unto 'er till yeh die, An' cherish 'er wiv love an' tender care. E'n in the days when she's no longer fair She's still yer wife," 'e sez. "Ribuck," sez I. "YOUNG FRIEND!" 'e sez.

"Young friend," 'e sez--I sez, "Now, listen 'ere: This isn't one o' them impetchus leaps. There ain't no tart a 'undreth part so dear As 'er. She 'as me 'eart an' soul fer keeps!" An' then Doreen, she turns away an' weeps; But 'e jist smiles. "Yer deep in love, 'tis clear, Young friend," 'e sez.

"Young friend," 'e sez--an' tears wus in 'is eyes-- "Strive 'ard. Fer many, many years I've lived. An' I kin but recall wiv tears an' sighs The lives of some I've seen in marridge gived." "My Gawd!" I sez. "I'll strive as no bloke strivved! Fer don't I know I've copped a bonzer prize?" "Young friend," 'e sez.

"Young friend," 'e sez. An' in 'is gentle way, 'E pats the shoulder of my dear Doreen. "I've solem'ized grand weddin's in me day, But 'ere's the sweetest little maid I've seen. She's fit fer any man, to be 'is queen; An' you're more forchinit than you kin say, Young friend," 'e sez.

"Young friend," 'e sez...A queer ole pilot bloke, Wiv silver 'air. The gentle way 'e dealt Wiv 'er, the soft an' kindly way 'e spoke To my Doreen, 'ud make a statcher melt. I tell yer, square an' all, I sorter felt A kiddish kind o' feelin' like I'd choke... "Young friend," 'e sez.

"Young friend," 'e sez, "you two on Choosday week, Is to be joined in very 'oly bonds. To break them vows I 'opes yeh'll never seek; Fer I could curse them 'usbands 'oo absconds!" "I'll love 'er till I snuff it," I responds. "Ah, that's the way I likes to 'ear yeh speak, Young friend," 'e sez.

"Young friend," 'e sez--an' then me 'and 'e grips "I wish't yeh luck, you an' yer lady fair. Sweet maid." An' sof'ly wiv 'is finger-tips, 'E takes an' strokes me cliner's shinin' 'air. An' when I seen 'er standin' blushin' there, I turns an' kisses 'er, fair on the lips. "Young friend!" 'e sez.

X. Hitched

"An'--wilt--yeh--take--this--woman--fer--to--be-- Yer--weddid--wife?"...O, strike me! Will I wot? TAKE 'er? Doreen? 'E stan's there ARSTIN' me! As if 'e thort per'aps I'd rather not! TAKE 'er? 'E seemed to think 'er kind was got Like cigarette-cards, fer the arstin'. Still, I does me stunt in this 'ere hitchin' rot, An' speaks me piece: "Righto!" I sez, "I will."

"I will," I sez. An' tho' a joyful shout Come from me bustin' 'eart--I know it did-- Me voice got sorter mangled comin' out, An' makes me whisper like a frightened kid. "I will," I squeaks. An' I'd 'a' give a quid To 'ad it on the quite, wivout this fuss, An' orl the starin' crowd that Mar 'ad bid To see this solim hitchin' up of us.

"Fer--rich-er--er--fer--por-er." So 'e bleats. "In--sick-ness--an'--in-ealth,"...An' there I stands, An' dunno'arf the chatter I repeats, Nor wot the 'ell to do wiv my two 'ands. But 'e don't 'urry puttin' on our brands-- This white-'aired pilot-bloke--but gives it lip, Dressed in 'is little shirt, wiv frills an' bands. "In sick-ness--an'--in--" Ar! I got the pip! An' once I missed me turn; an' Ginger Mick, 'Oo's my best-man, 'e ups an' beefs it out. "I will!" 'e 'owls; an' fetches me a kick. "Your turn to chin!" 'e tips wiv a shout. An' there I'm standin' like a gawky lout. (Aw, spare me! But I seemed to be ALL 'ands!) An' wonders wot 'e's goin' crook about, Wiv 'arf a mind to crack 'im where 'e stands.

O, lumme! But ole Ginger was a trick! Got up regardless fer the solim rite. ('E 'awks the bunnies when 'e toils, does Mick) An' twice I saw 'im feelin' fer a light To start a fag; an' trembles lest'e might, Thro' force o' habit like. 'E's nervis too; That's plain, fer orl 'is air o' bluff an' skite; An' jist as keen as me to see it thro'.

But, 'struth, the wimmin! 'Ow they love this frill! Fer Auntie Liz, an' Mar, o' course, wus there; An' Mar's two uncles' wives, an' Cousin Lil, An' 'arf a dozen more to grin and stare. I couldn't make me 'ands fit anywhere! I felt like I wus up afore the Beak! But my Doreen she never turns a 'air, Nor misses once when it's 'er turn to speak.

Ar, strike! No more swell marridges fer me! It seems a blinded year afore 'e's done. We could 'a' fixed it in the registree Twice over 'fore this cove 'ad 'arf begun. I s'pose the wimmin git some sorter fun Wiv all this guyver, an' 'is nibs's shirt. But, seems to me, it takes the bloomin' bun, This stylish splicin' uv a bloke an' skirt.

"To--be--yer--weddid--wife--" Aw, take a pull! Wot in the 'ell's 'e think I come there for? An' so 'e drawls an' drones until I'm full, An' wants to do a duck clean out the door. An' yet, fer orl 'is 'igh-falutin' jor, Ole Snowy wus a reel good-meanin' bloke. If 'twasn't fer the 'oly look 'e wore Yeh'd think 'e piled it on jist fer a joke.

An', when at last 'e shuts 'is little book, I 'eaves a sigh that nearly bust me vest. But 'Eavens! Now 'ere's muvver goin' crook! An' sobbin' awful on me manly chest! (I wish she'd give them water-works a rest.) "My little girl!" she 'owls. "O, treat'er well! She's young--too young to leave 'er muvver's nest!" "Orright, ole chook," I nearly sez. Oh, 'ell!

An' then we 'as a beano up at Mar's-- A slap-up feed, wiv wine an' two big geese. Doreen sits next ter me, 'er eyes like stars. O, 'ow I wished their blessed yap would cease! The Parson-bloke 'e speaks a little piece, That makes me blush an' 'ang me silly 'ead. 'E sez 'e 'opes our lovin' will increase-- I LIKES that pilot fer the things 'e said.

'E sez Doreen an' me is in a boat, An' sailin' on the matrimonial sea. 'E sez as 'ow 'e 'opes we'll allus float In peace an' joy, from storm an' danger free. Then muvver gits to weepin' in 'er tea; An' Auntie Liz sobs like a winded colt; An' Cousin Lil comes 'round an' kisses me; Until I feel I'll 'AVE to do a bolt.

Then Ginger gits end-up an' makes a speech-- ('E'd 'ad a couple, but 'e wasn't shick.) "My cobber 'ere," 'e sez, "'as copped a peach! Of orl the barrer-load she is the pick! I 'opes 'e won't fergit 'is pals too quick As wus 'is frien's in olden days, becors, I'm trustin', later on," sez Ginger Mick, "To celebrate the chris'nin'."...'Oly wars!

At last Doreen an' me we gits away, An' leaves 'em doin' nothin' to the scran. (We're honey-moonin' down beside the Bay.) I gives a 'arf a dollar to the man Wot drives the cab; an' like two kids we ran To ketch the train--Ah, strike! I could 'a' flown! We gets the carridge right agen the van. She whistles, jolts, an' starts...An' we're alone!

Doreen an' me! My precious bit o' fluff! Me own true weddid wife!...An' we're alone! She seems so frail, an' me so big an' rough-- I dunno wot this feelin' is that's grown Inside me 'ere that makes me feel I own A thing so tender like I fear to squeeze Too 'ard fer fear she'll break...Then, wiv a groan I starts to 'ear a coot call, "Tickets, please!"