St. Jacobs Oil family calendar and book of health and humor for the million : 1885 : containing original humorous articles & illustrations by the leading humorists of America / the Charles A. Vogeler Company.

  • Charles A. Vogeler Company
Date:
1884
Catalogue details

Licence: Public Domain Mark

Credit: St. Jacobs Oil family calendar and book of health and humor for the million : 1885 : containing original humorous articles & illustrations by the leading humorists of America / the Charles A. Vogeler Company. Source: Wellcome Collection.

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    TIM, THE WHARF-8RAT.* ( Written for The St. Jacobs Oil Family Calendar, 1885, by F. H. Gassaway, “ Derrick Dodd,” of the San Francisco, California, “Evening Post.’’) You see, gents, my pal Tim an me Wos a’takin’ a quiet swim, When a cop comes a’sneakin’ along ther wharf, An he nabs poor little Tim. You bet it wos rough on us partners that. Fur while Tim in ther cooler ;stayed, His corner’d be tuk by s’mother boy As ud cabbage his reg’lar trade. An a little gal, that a big man held A settin’ upon ther rail, Wos knocked clean over ther steamer’s side In ther shake uv a sheepses tail. We seed ’twere ther same rich man, an knowed Ther babby belonged ter him ; So Tim dived arter it like a duck,— Fur I tell yer he saveyed ter swim. Ther passengers yelled ther bells they banged, Till ther boat backed off from there; Then we seed my pal cotched enter a pile, A grippin’ ther gal’s long hair. So they hauled ’em both out onter ther dock; The gal she was safe an sound, But Tim had been hit by ther iron wheel,— His side wos jest one big wound. Ther daddy he kissed his kid, then kneeled Where Tim lay so white an sick: “ God bless yer!” he sez, “ my little man,— Someone fetch a doctor, quick 1” “No use,” sez Tim: “I’m agoin’, sir, I can’t pay yer now, yer see,” And he takes from his neck a little bag,— “ I’m four bits short,” sez he. “ Don’t yer savey ther boy what wos tooked up, What yer lent ther money that day ? I’d most got it all made up, but now— But now I never kin pay.” “ Don’t talk uv that,” sez the father chap? His big tears a’runnin’ free; “ You’ve saved my babby’s life, an she’s Wuth all ther world ter me 1” So Tim went a’snivelin’ up ther street, With me sniveiin’ on behine, Wen a big man outer resterrink cum, As I guess ud been drinkin’ wine; An he axes, “ Whot’s this here crim’nal done ?” So ther cop says, “Yer see its agin’ Ther law fur ter swim on ther city front, So I’m runnin’ this Wharf-Rat in.” An ther big man laughs as he looks at Tim, An he sez, “How much is ther fine?— Five dollars !—They charge ther same for a bath They does fur a bottle er wine. “Wall, I guess I’ll pay it,” an then he winks At me an ther cop kinder queer; “ But mind yer, Rat, this is onne a loan,— You must pay it back in a year.” An he laughs agin’ wen Tim braced up An looks him square in ther eye, An sez, with his fist a’clinched this way,— “Ef I don’t, sir, I hope ter die!” Well, most on a year had gone; one day Me an Tim wos stealin’ a dip By the ferry wharf, wen ther boat kem in A. An run too hard ’gin ther slip; !rl (XKj. __ vBs^r-r- “ Is she wuth four bits?” sez Tim, so weak; “Oh! yes,” sez ther man,—“Give him air!” “Then,” sez Tim, just like he wos goin’ ter sleep, “ Then, mister, you and me’s square.” An that woz ther last word Timmie sez, An all them big men tall Tuk off their hats as my pal let go,— Yes they did,—plug hats and all! An a gospel sharp as wos in ther crowd, He knelt right down by Tim, An he told uv a Bible feller, as sed Fur dead kids ter cum ter him. I tell yer its hard ter lose ther pal Yer’ve fit fur, starved with, an love; But I’m bettin’ as them as is square down here Is square up there above! ^[Copyright, 1883. The Charles A. Vogeler Co.] Who are the most wicked people in the world, and why ? Pen-makers—becau.se they make people steel pens, and tell them they do write. The centre of the acutest agony is reached by St. Jacobs Oil—the searching, sovereign cure for pain. _vY)