Part 36 (1/2)
”Ah--that 'e were! Joe were better 'n the best--only don't let 'im 'ear me say so, 'e 'd be that puffed up--Lord! But n.o.body could beat Joe--black, yaller or white; they all tried danged 'ard, but Joe were a world-beater--y' see, I trained Joe! An' to-day 'e 's as good as ever 'e was. Y' see, Joe's allus lived clean, sir, consequent Joe's sound, wind an' limb. Joe could go back an' beat all these fancy bruisers and stringy young champs to-day--if 'e only would--but don't let 'im 'ear me say so.”
”You're fond of Joe, Old Un?”
”An' why for not, sir--s' long as 'e don't know it? Didn't 'e look arter poor old me when 'e 'ad money, an' when 'e lost everything, didn't 'e look arter me still? An' now 'e 's your shuvver, don' 'e keep a roof over me poor old 'ead like a son--don't 'e give me the run o' jour garridge an' let me watch 'im spar wi' you an' your gentlemen friends?
Ain't 'e the best an' truest-'earted man as ever drawed breath? Ah, a king o' men is Joe, in the ring an' out, sir--only never let 'im 'ear me say so--'e 'd be that proud, Lord! there'd be no livin' wi' 'im--sh, 'ere 'e be, sir.”
Joe had laid by his chauffeur's garb and looked even bigger and grimmer in flannels and sweater.
”Ho you, Joe,” cried the old man, scowling, ”did ye bring me that 'bacca?”
”S'posin' I didn't?” demanded Joe.
”Then dang ye--twice!”
”An' s'posin' I did?”
”Then--give it 'ere!”
”An' that's his grat.i.tood, sir!” growled Joe, shaking his head and giving the packet into the old man's clutching fingers. ”A unnat'ral old bag-o'-bones, that's what 'e is, sir!”
”Bones!” croaked the Old Un viciously. ”Bag-o'-bones am I? Yah--look at ye'self--pork, that's what you are, all run to pork an' blubber an' fat, Joe, me pore lad--”
”Fat!” growled Joe. ”Y' know I ain't fat; y' know I'm as good a man as ever I was--look at that, you old sarpent!” And he smote himself with mighty fist--a blow to fell an ox. ”Fat, am I?”
”As--lard!” nodded the old man, filling half an inch of blackened clay pipe with trembling fingers, ”as a 'og--”
”Now my crumbs--” began Joe fiercely.
”You're flabby an' soft, me pore lad,” grinned the old man. ”Flabby as a babby an' soft as a woman an' fat as a--”
Joe reached out very suddenly, and picking up the old man, armchair and all, shook him to and fro until he croaked for mercy.
”Lor' gorramighty!” he panted, as Joe set him down again.
”Fat, am I?” demanded Joe, scowling.
”Fat as a 'og--fat as forty bloomin' 'ogs!” cried the old man vindictively. ”An' what's more, your wind's all gone--you couldn't go five rounds wi' a good 'un!”
”Couldn't I?”
”No!” shrieked the Old Un, ”you'd be 'anging on an' blowing like a grampus!”
”Should I?”
”Ah--like a grampus!”
”Right-o!” nodded Joe, turning away, ”no jam for _your_ tea to-night.”
”Eh, what--what, would ye rob a pore old man of 'is jam, Joe--a pore afflicted old cove as is dependent on ye 'and an' fut, Joe--a pore old gaffer as you've just shook up to that degree as 'is pore old liver is a-bobbin' about in 'is innards like a jelly. Joe, ye couldn't be so 'eartless!”