I don't know that the old boss can.
I've heard he's pushed to make ends meet.
To me he's been a fair, straight man
That pays up well an' works a treat.
But if I don't get in this game,
Well, "blackleg" ain't a pretty name.
This thing has got me thinkin' hard.
But there is worse upon my mind.
What sort of luck has broke my guard
That I should be the man to find
A girl like that? … The whole world's wrong!
Why was I born to live and long?
I get so down to it last night.
With broodin' over things like this,
I said "There's not a thing in sight
Worth havin' but I seem to miss."
So I go out to get some air
An' have a word with old Bob Blair.
Bob's livin' lonely, same as me;
But he don't take to frettin' so
An' gettin' megrims after tea.
He reads a lot at night, I know;
His hut has books half up the wall
That I don't tumble to at all.
