Trouble is, consarn his soul, his feed has been
so slim
I’ve fell away till northen’s left’cept clothes an’
name o’ Jim.
Reckin then I’ll h’ist myself,’cause, ye see, I’ve
found
It’s blame sight easier raisin’ up than holdin’
to the ground.’
“Then he give them straps a tug an’ up he went
from sight,