Читать книгу Up in Maine: Stories of Yankee Life Told in Verse - Holman Day - Страница 10

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Once there was a country lawyer and his name

was Hiram Crane,

And he had a reputation as the worst old file in

Maine.

And as soon’s he got a client, why, the first

thing that he’d do

Was to feel the critter’s pocket and then soak

him ’cordin’ to.

Well, sir, one day Benjy Butters bought a hoss,

and oh, ’twas raw

Way old Benjy he got roasted, and he said he’d

have the law.

So he gave the case to Hiram, and then Hiram

brought a suit

And got back the hoss and harness and what

Benjy gave to boot.

When he met him at the gros’ry Benjy asked

him for the bill,

And when Hiram named the figger, it was

steeper’n Hobson’s hill.

Poor old Benjy hammed and swallered—bill jest

sort of took his breath,

And the crowd that stood a-listenin’ thought

perhaps he’d choke to death.

But it happened that the squire felt like jokin’

some that day,

And he says, “Now, Uncle Benjy, there won’t be

a cent to pay

If you’ll right here on the instant make me up a

nice pat rhyme;

Hear you’re pretty good at them things—give

you jest three minutes’ time.”

And the squire grinned like fury, tipped the

crowd a knowing wink,

While old Benjy started in, sir, almost ’fore

you’d time to think:

“Here you see the petty lawyer leanin’ on his

corkscrew cane.

Sartin parties call him Gander, other people call

him Crane.

Though he’s faowl, it’s someways daoubtful

what he is, my friends, but still

You can tell there’s hawk about him by the

gaul-durned qritter’s bill.”

Crane got mad, he wanted money, but the crowd

let on to roar,

And they laughed the blamed old skinflint right

square out the gros’ry store.