Yawcob Strauss and Other Poems/Little Tim's Revenge




 * "Little Tim " was the name of him
 * Of whom I have to tell;
 * And he abode on the Western road,
 * In the busy town of L--.


 * As trains went down through the little town,
 * He peddled through the cars
 * His stock in trade, — iced lemonade,
 * Cake, peanuts, and cigars.


 * Conductor Dunn was the only one
 * Who'd not this trade allow;
 * And so 'twixt him and little Tim
 * There always was a row.


 * At last one day they had a fray;
 * And Timothy declared
 * He'd "fix old Dunn, 'as sure's a gun,'"
 * If both their lives were spared.


 * So off he went with this intent,
 * And sold his stock in trade:
 * His earnings hard he spent for lard,
 * And started for "the grade."


 * (This place, you know, is where trains go
 * Upon the steep hillside,
 * And where — with lard — it isn't hard
 * To get up quite a slide.)




 * He took a stick, and spread it thick,
 * Remarking with a smile,
 * "There'll be some fun when Mr. Dunn
 * Commences to 'strike ile'!"


 * He lay in wait: the train was late,
 * And came a-puffing hard,
 * With heavy load, right up the road
 * To where he'd spread the lard.


 * They tried in vain: that fated train
 * Could not ascend the grade:
 * The wheels would spin with horrid din
 * Yet no advance was made.


 * Then little Tim — 'twas bold in him —
 * Cried out in accents shrill,
 * "Remember me, Conductor D.,
 * When you get up the hill!"


 * MORAL.
 * Success in trade is up a grade
 * That we should all ascend,
 * And with a will help up the hill
 * Our fellow-man and friend.


 * When "on the road," don't incommode
 * The seeker after pelf,
 * Or ten to one, like Mr. Dunn,
 * You'll not get up yourself.