Nye and Riley's Wit and Humor — This Man Jones

This Man Jones This man Jones was what you'd call A feller 'at had no sand at all: Kindo consumpted, and undersize, And saller-complected, with big sad eyes, And a kind-of-a-sort-of-a-hang-dog style, And a sneakin' kind-of-a-half-way smile That kindo give him away to us As a preacher, maybe, or sumpin' wuss.

Didn't take with the gang--well, no-- But still we managed to _use_ him, though,-- Coddin' the gilley along the rout' And drivin' the stakes that he pulled out;-- For I was one of the bosses then And of course stood in with the canvas-men-- And the way we put up jobs, you know, On this man Jones jes' beat the show!

Used to rattle him scandalous, And keep the feller a-dodgin' us, And a-shyin' round jes' skeered to death, And a-feered to whimper above his breath;

Give him a cussin', and then a kick, And then a kind-of-a back-hand lick-- Jes' for the fun of seein' him climb Around with a head on half the time.

But what was the curioust thing to me, Was along o' the party--let me see,-- Who was our "Lion Queen" last year?

-- Mamzelle Zanty, er De La Pierre?

-- Well, no matter!

--a stunnin' in mash, With a red-ripe lip, and a long eye-lash, And a figger sich as the angels owns-- And one too many for this man Jones: He'd always wake in the afternoon As the band waltzed in on "the lion tune," And there, from the time that she'd go in, Till she'd back out of the cage agin, He'd stand, shaky and limber-kneed-- 'Specially when she come to "feed The beast raw meat with her naked hand"-- And all that business, you understand.

And it _was_ resky in that den-- For I think she juggled three cubs then, And a big "green" lion 'at used to smash Collar-bones for old Frank Nash;

And I reckon now she haint forgot The afternoon old "Nero" sot His paws on her:--but as for me, It's a sort-of-a-mixed-up mystery.

Kindo' remember an awful roar, And see her back for the bolted door-- See the cage rock--heerd her call "God have mercy!"

and that was all-- For ther haint no livin' man can tell What it's like when a thousand yell In female tones, and a thousand more Howl in bass till their throats is sore!

But the keeper said as they dragged her out, They heerd some feller laugh and shout: "Save her!

Quick!

I've got the cuss!"

...

And yit she waked and smiled on us!

And we daren't _flinch_--for the doctor said, Seein' as this man Jones was dead, Better to jes' not let her know Nothin' o' that for a week or so.

How to Hunt the Fox