There weren't no more to say. An' Syd went—West:
Into the sunset with ole Aussie's best.
But no one ever 'eard no groans from Dad.
Though all 'is pride an' 'ope was in that lad
'E showed no sign excep' to grow more grim.
'Is son was gone—an' it was up to 'im.
One day last month when I was down at Flood's
I seen 'im strugglin' with a bag uv spuds.
"Look 'ere," I sez, "you let me spell yeh, Dad.
You 'umpin' loads like that's a bit too bad."
'E gives a grunt that's more than 'arf a groan.
"Wot's up?" 'e snaps. "Got no work uv yer own?"
That's 'im. But I've been tippin' that the pace
Would tell; an' when 'is wife comes to our place,
An' sez that Dad is ill an' took to bed,
Flat out with work—though that ain't wot she said—
I ain't su'prised; an' tells 'er when I'm thro'
I'll come across an' see wot I can do.
I went across, an'—I come back again.
Strike me! it's no use reas'nin' with some men.
Stubborn ole cow! I'm sick uv them ole fools.
The way 'e yells, "Keep yer 'ands off my tools!"
Yeh'd think I was a thief. 'Is missus said
I'd better slope, or 'e'd be out uv bed.
