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James Whitcomb Riley - This Man Jones
Work rating: Low

This man Jones was what you`d call
  A feller `at had no sand at all;
  Kind o` consumpted, and undersize,
  And sailor-complected, with big sad eyes,
  And a kind-of-a sort-of-a hang-dog style,
  And a sneakin` sort-of-a half-way smile
  `At kind o` give him away to us
  As a preacher, maybe, er somepin` wuss.

  Didn`t take with the gang--well, no--
  But still we managed to use him, though,--
  Coddin` the gilly along the rout`,
  And drivin` the stakes `at he pulled out--
  Far I was one of the bosses then,
  And of course stood in with the canvasmen;
  And the way we put up jobs, you know,
  On this man Jones jes` beat the show!

  Ust to rattle him scandalous,
  And keep the feller a-dodgin` us,
  And a-shyin` round half skeered to death,
  And afeerd to whimper above his breath;
  Give him a cussin`, and then a kick,
  And then a kind-of-a back-hand lick--
  Jes` far the fun of seem` him climb
  Around with a head on most the time.

  But what was the curioust thing to me,
  Was along o` the party--let me see,--
  Who was our "Lion Queen" last year?--
  Mamzelle Zanty, or De La Pierre?--
  Well, no matter--a stunnin` mash,
  With a red-ripe lip, and a long eye-lash,
  And a figger sich as the angels owns--
  And one too many far this man Jones.

  He`d allus wake in the afternoon,
  As the band waltzed in on the lion-tune,
  And there, from the time `at she`d go in
  Till she`d back out of the cage agin,
  He`d stand, shaky and limber-kneed--
  `Specially when she come to "feed
  The beasts raw meat with her naked hand"--
  And all that business, you understand.

  And it _was_ resky in that den--
  Far I think she juggled three cubs then,
  And a big "green" lion `at used to smash
  Collar-bones far old Frank Nash;
  And I reckon now she hain`t fergot
  The afternoon old "Nero" sot
  His paws on _her_!--but as far me,
  It`s a sort-of-a mixed-up mystery:--

  Kind o` remember an awful roar,
  And see her back far the bolted door--
  See the cage rock--heerd her call
  "God have mercy!" and that was all--
  Far they ain`t no livin` man can tell
  _What_ it`s like when a thousand yell
  In female tones, and a thousand more
  Howl in bass till their throats is sore!

  But the keeper said `at dragged her out,
  They heerd some feller laugh and shout--
  "Save her! Quick! I`ve got the cuss!"
  And yit she waked and smiled on _us!_
  And we daren`t flinch, far the doctor said,
  Seein` as this man Jones was dead,
  Better to jes` not let her know
  Nothin` o` that far a week er so.
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