Page:Doreen (C. J. Dennis, 1917).djvu/24



IST 'ere it gripped me, on a sudden, like a red-'ot knife. I wus diggin' in the garden, talkin' pleasant to me wife, When it got me good an' solid, an' I fetches out a yell, An' curses soft down in me neck, an' breathes 'ard fer a spell. Then, when I tries to straighten up, it stabs me ten times worse. I thinks per'aps I'm dyin', an' chokes back a reel 'ot curse.

"I've worked too fast," I tells Doreen. "Me back-bone's runnin' 'ot. I'm sick! I've got—Oo 'oly wars! I dunno wot I've got! Jist 'ere—Don't touch!—Jist round back 'ere, a blazin' little pain Is clawin' up me spinal cord an' slidin' down again." "You come inside," she sez. "Per'aps it's stoppin' in the sun. Does it 'urt much?" I sez, "Oh, no; I'm 'avin' lots o' fun."