In the year ninety-eight arrived per Dawson stage
In December, a lady, a maid, and a page;
One clearly of rank. With the air of a queen
She stepped up to the desk, asking: "Pray, have you seen
Mr. Marmaduke Montague-Marlinford-Dunne?"
Adding proudly,—"The gentleman, Sir, is my son."
The clerk at the desk stared and stammered, then said:—
"No gent be that name in this shack has his bed;
But mebbe' th' Boys"—Here he calls to a bunch,
"Say, has any o' youse seed a kid with a hunch
That sounds like—Ma'am, wot was th' name o' y'r son?"
She faltered, "Sir! Montague-Marlinford-Dunne!"
Nobody knew him—worse, nobody cared—
But the bar-keep speaks up (while his quid he prepared),
"Say, w'ot was th' kid like?"—one stared at the other——
"Warn't he a pardner of Billy Bird's brother?
An' had he a bench-claim know'd as 'Bloody Jim'?
'Cos if he had ther's a warn't out f'r him!"
"I'll describe him, good sirs," said the lady in tears:
"He left home just of age, namely twenty-one-years.
His hair, sunny gold, is inclined to up-curl——
His complexion is peach-like—he's fair as a girl.
He has large, soulful eyes, they are beaming and kind,—
A soft, bird-like voice—and an artistic mind.
"Military in bearing—broad-shouldered and tall;
Speaks languages seven—a 'linguist,' you'd call.
Paints, sings, rides to hounds; he dresses with care;
A de-lightful manner, with most restful air:—
Oh! prithee, good gentlemen, find me my son,
Whom all London once knew as 'The dashing Beau-Dunne!'"
The lady was weeping in 'kerchief of lace
And she saw not the smile on the rough miner's face,—
Who said: "Ma'am, y' won't find y'r angel up here,—
Them pertickler brands—with 'wings'—disappear!
But here's 'Windy' comin'—he knows, th' ol' tramp,
Every Jack on th' trail, every Jill in th' camp!"
"Bing-bang!" The door opens and "Windy" appears,
A be-whiskered, a pimple-pocked tough to his ears:
His jeans all in tatters, his muck-a-lucks worn;
His parka was dirty, and mud-splashed and torn.
His greeting: "Wow! hand out a hootch! durn my gizzard
If I warn't cotched in a Hunker Crick blizzard!"
The lady turns pale. Then the bar-keep behind
Hollers: "Windy, ol' cock! can YOU call t' y'r mind
A chump 'round this camp——Ma'am, wot was th' same
Double-decker y' called b' th' telescope name?"——
But the lady, eyes staring, was shrieking, "My son!"
Lo! "Windy" be-whiskered was "dashing Beau-Dunne!"