"That's a thing we must think about," said he. "But here comes Jimmy the Rhymer. I wonder if he has anything new to-day."
CHAPTER V.
JIMMY THE RHYMER.
James Redmond, the boys used to say, was small for his size and old for his age. He was not exactly humpbacked, but his shoulders came so nearly up to the level of his ears that he seemed so; and he was not exactly an invalid, though we never counted on him in any of the games or enterprises that required strength or fleetness. I have no idea what his age was. He must have been some years older than I, and yet all the boys in my set treated him tenderly and patronizingly, as if he were a little fellow who needed their encouragement and protection.
Jimmy used to make little ballads, generally taking for his subject some incident that had occurred among the boys of the neighborhood, and often sticking to the facts of the case—at the expense of rhyme and rhythm—with a literalness that made him valuable as a historian, whatever he was as a poet. He was called "Jimmy the Rhymer," and the polite thing to do, on meeting him, was to ask him if he had anything new to-day—meaning any new poem. If he had, he was always willing to read it, sometimes accompanying it with remarks in prose that were quite as entertaining as the ballad itself.
"Hello, Jimmy!"
"Hello, boys!"
"Got anything new to-day?"
"Not much."