Page:Ballads·of·Bung•E·Iveagh·Lord•1921.pdf/8

 They honoured him not for position or fame, they honoured him not for hope or gain, They honoured him but for this alone, he was a man—and one of their own.

November, nineteen twenty, was the send-off to McKay, At the Recreation in the good old West Coast way, Bung, the Bookie, held the chair. The Bull he held the cash, And did “Italiano” with vim and fire and dash. Chalkie at the piano-—a written guarantee, “That everything’s in order”—just as it should be. We drank the King (God bless him) then Chummy sang a song, And then the good old toast of Sport, Host Doogan sent along, Jack Parfitt answered “Footie,” well knew he the good old game, Chummy stood for Trotting, and “Ogie” at Tennis came. “All the World Over” Host Doogan sang and made the rafters ring, And then Tom Barry’s “Hard Head” toast was duly fitted in. He told some queer and curious facts this human gramophone (As an artist at an evening he’s on his Pat Malone) “Shot’s Eye,” cried he, “is our national game, who wouldn’t the dice beguile? A Big Six on the table would make a Wowser smile; Big Tim and Cullen, Chairman excuse, Matheson, Kettle, and Beban, too— Tim Mullins, Bloss, Disher Jones I couple the toast with you.” The Bookie here the boys obliged, the “Yellow to Green” read he. McDiarmid sang “Johnny Brannaghan” of “The Irish Spree.”

And now the toast of the evening, the dinkum drink with McKay. Bung, the Bookie, proposing, hear what does he say! “Gentlemen, all charged your glasses? I stand on my feet to-day,