I don’t want to give no trouble—
But—just look after my gal!
REFRAIN
“Just look after my gal, will ye?
While I’m frontin’ the fire an’ the foe—
Like a good old pal, look after my gal—
An’ Gawd bless ye wheerever I go!”
“That will do as a beginning!” said Mrs. Arteroyd, nibbling anxiously at the pencil with which she had “produced” these lines. “It suggests love and a spice of immorality. His ‘gal’—one of the silly creatures who walk out with him, not ‘on the strength,’ of course. It’s a change, and it’s sure to go down! Not his wife,—and not his baby—ugh! you little wretch! (this was a side apostrophe to the absent and unconscious Marquise Dégagée)—but his ‘gal’! Old Dummer-Esel will appreciate that!”
She bit her pencil again and thought,—then glanced over a few more music-hall songs, and went on—
“She’s a weak an’ a lovin’ creetur!