Jim
By Bret Harte (Francis)
Say there! Praps
Some on you chaps
Might know Jim Wild?
Well, no offense:
Thar aint no sense
In gittin riled!
Jim was my chum
Up on the Bar:
Thats why I come
Down from up yar,
Lookin for Jim.
Thank ye, sir! You
Aint of that crew,
Blest if you are!
Money? Not much:
That aint my kind;
I aint no such.
Rum? I dont mind,
Seein its you.
Well, this yer Jim,
Did you know him?
Jes bout your size;
Same kind of eyes;
Well, that is strange:
Why, its two year
Since he came here,
Sick, for a change.
Well, heres to us:
Eh?
The hyou say!
Dead?
That little cuss?
What makes you star,
You over thar?
Cant a man drop
s glass in yer shop
But you must rar?
It wouldnt take
Dd much to break
You and your bar.
Dead!
Poor little Jim!
Why, thar was me,
Jones, and Bob Lee,
Harry and Ben,
No-account men:
Then to take Him!
Well, tharGood-by
No more, sir I
Eh?
Whats that you say?
Why, dern it! sho!
No? Yes! By Joe!
Sold!
Sold! Why, you limb,
You ornery,
Derned old
Long-legged Jim.