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Title: A Romance Of The Saw-Dust
Author: George Augustus Baker [
More Titles by Baker]
Suthin' to put in a story!
I couldn't think of a thing,
'N' it's nigh unto thirty year now
Since fust I went in the ring.
"The life excitin'?" Thunder!
"Variety," did you say?
You must have cur'us notions
'Bout circuses, anyway.
The things that look so risky
Aint nothin' to us but biz.
"Accidents"--falls and sich like?
Sometimes, in course, there is.
But it's only a slip, or a stumble,
Some feller laid out flat,
It don't take more'n a second;
There aint no story in that.
'N' like as not, the tumble
Don't do no harm at all:
There's one gal here--I tell yer,
She got an awful fall.
You know her--Ma'am'selle Ida--
She's Jimmy Barnet's wife,
The prettiest little woman
You ever see in your life.
They was lovers when they was young uns,
No more'n two hands high.
She nussed Jim through a fever once,
When the doctors swore he'd die.
I taught 'em both the motions;
She never know'd no fear,
And they've done the trapeze together
For more'n a couple o' year.
Last Summer we took on a Spaniard,
A mis'rable kind of cuss,
Spry feller--but awful tempered,
Always a-makin' a fuss.
He wanted to marry Ida--
His chance was pretty slim,
He did his best, but bless yer,
She'd never go back on Jim.
He acted up so foolish,
That Jim, one day, got riled
'N' guv him a reg'lar whalin';
That druv the Spaniard wild.
He talked like he was crazy,
'N' raved around, and swore
He'd kill 'em both; but Jim just laughed--
He'd heer'd such talk before.
One day, when we was showin'
In a little country town,
Jim mashed his hand with a hatchet,
Drivin' a tent stake down.
He couldn't work that night, nohow,
But the "trap" hed got to be done.
The Spaniard said he'd try it--
'N' they had to take him or none.
I knew Jim didn't like it,
'N' Ide looked scared and white--
"Look out for me, boys," she whispered,
"I'm goin' to fall to-night;"
Then she looked up with a shiver,
At the trapeze swingin' there,
A couple of bars and a rope or two
Forty feet up in the air.
But up she clumb--he arter--
Stood up, but how Ide shook,
Then the Spaniard yelled like a devil,
"Now look, Jim Barnet!--look!"--
With that he jumped 'n' gripped her;
She fought, but he broke her hold,
Grabbed at the rope, 'n' missed it--
Off of the bar they rolled,
Clinched, 'n' Ide a screamin';
Thud!--they struck the ground;
I turned all sick and dizzy,
'N' everything went round.
How still it were for a second!--
It seemed like an hour--'n' then
The women was all a screechin',
'N' the ring was full of men.
Poor Jim was stoopin' to lift her,
But flopped right down, 'n' said,
Sez he, "Her lips is movin'!
She's breathin'!--She isn't dead!"
For sure!--he'd fallen under;
It kinder broke her fall;
Except the scare and a broken arm,
She wasn't hurt at all.
"The Spaniard?" Oh, it killed him;
It broke his cussed neck.
But nobody cried their eyes out,
As near as I reckeleck.
She married Jim soon arter,
They're doin' the trapeze still;
So, yer see, as I was sayin',
These falls don't always kill.
'N' as for things excitin'
To put in a story,--well,
I'd really like to oblige yer,
But then there aint nothin' to tell.
[The end]
George Augustus Baker's poem: Romance Of The Saw-Dust
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