Page:Ballads of a Bohemian.djvu/170

168 Stalled in the mud where the red lights glowed, Prospect devilish tough.

“Little Priscilla” he called his car, Best of our battered bunch by far, Branded with many a bullet scar, Yet running so sweet and true. Jerry he loved her, knew her tricks; Swore: “She’s the beat of the best big six, And if ever I get in a deuce of a fix Priscilla will pull me through.”

“Looks pretty rotten right now,” says he; “Hanged if the devil himself could see. Priscilla, it’s up to you and me To show ’em what we can do.” Seemed that Priscilla just took the word; Up with a leap like a horse that’s spurred, On with the joy of a homing bird, Swift as the wind she flew.

Shell-holes shoot at them out of the night; A lurch to the left, a wrench to the right, Hands grim-gripping and teeth clenched tight, Eyes that glare through the dark. “Priscilla, you’re doing me proud this day; Hospital’s only a league away, And, honey, I’m longing to hit the hay, So hurry, old girl.… But hark!”

Howl of a shell, harsh, sudden, dread; Another… another.… “Strike me dead