“JEST A LIFT”

Feller was far as the foot of the hill in one of

those boggy places,

Had a first-class team,

As strong as a beam,

But the feller had busted his traces;

And the feller gave up when he saw he was

stuck.

He borrowed a chaw and consarned his luck,

—Admitted he didn’t know what to do;

Sat down on a bank and looked so blue

He worried the people that passed, and they

Just turned their noses the other way.

Old Ammi Simmons muttered that he

Was a dite afraid of his whiffle-tree;

It was slivered some, “and there warn’t much

doubt

’Twould bust if he pulled that feller out.”

And Ira Dorsey, regretful and smug,

Would have helped had he brought his heavier

tug,

So he simply beamed a bright “good day”

And clucked to his team and rode away.

So thus they passed for an hour or two;

Many not noticing, while a few

Assured him they’d like to help him out

“If the rigging they had was only stout.”

Feller had thought he was up a stump, when

along drove Ivory Keller;

Saw the sunken hub,

Yelled, “What’s the troub?

Don’t ye want a lift there, feller?”

And the feller said that he did, you bet,

But said he had begged while he’d set and set,

And he hadn’t discovered a single man

Who’d give him a boost with an extra span.

“Why,” Ivory said, “that’s jest my holt.

That off hoss there ain’t more’n a colt,

And it’s hardly an extry pulling pair,

But it’s youm for what it’s worth, I swear.

For I’ve got a home-made sort of a rule

—Won’t kick a cripple nor sass a fool,

And when I find that a feller’s stuck

—A side-tracked chap down on his luck—

Why, bless you, neighbor, in jest about

Two shakes of a sheep’s tail I yank him out.”

And the very next thing that the feller knew

Old Ivory busted a chain or two,

But the horse and the colt and the gay old man

Bent to the job till the clogged wheels ran,

—Tugged and buckled with hearty will

Till the cart rolled over the tough old hill.

Then the feller begged him to take some pay,

But the old man chuckled and shoved him

away;

“Why, bub, see here,” said Ivory Keller,

“I’m a tollable busy son of a gun,

And this is the way I squeeze in fun,

—Grab in same’s this and help a feller.”