Page:Jim of the Hills.djvu/78

 An' here I spins a lovely yarn, a gloomy, hard-luck tale Of how I've done my money in, an' I'm about to fail, How my house an' land is mortgaged, how I've muddled my affairs Through foolin' round with racin' bets an' rotten minin' shares.

I saw the fight was easy mine the minute I begun; An', after half a dozen words, the time-keep counted "One." An' when I finish that sad tale there ain't the slightest doubt I am winner of the contest, an' the widow's down an' out.

But not for long. Although she's lost, the widow is dead game: "I'm sorry, Mister Jim," says she, "for both your loss an' shame. All things is changed between us now, of course; the past is dead. An' what you were about to say you please will leave unsaid."

I was thinkin' in the evenin' over how I had escaped. An' how the widow took it all—the way she stared an' gaped. She looked her plainest at that time; but that don't matter now; For, plain or fair, I know of one who's fairer, anyhow.

I tells meself that beauty ain't a thing to count with man. An' I would never choose a wife on that unthinkin' plan. No robin was awake, I swear; but still I heard that strain: "Dear, it's a pity that poor Jenny is so plain."