Part 14

'Keep dark! They'll muster thick as flies When once the news gets sent around We're giving such a splendid prize -- A Snowdon horse worth fifty pound! They'll come right in from Dandaloo, And find -- that it's a gift to you!'

. . . . .

The race came on -- with no display, Nor any calling of the card, But round about the pub all day A crowd of shearers, drinking hard, And using language in a strain 'Twere flattery to call profane.

Our hero, dressed in silk attire -- Blue jacket and a scarlet cap -- With boots that shone like flames of fire, Now did his canter on The Trap, And walked him up and round about, Until the other steeds came out.

He eyed them with a haughty look, But saw a sight that caught his breath! It was! Ah John! The Chinee cook! In boots and breeches! Pale as death! Tied with a rope, like any sack, Upon a piebald pony's back!

The next, a colt -- all mud and burrs! Half-broken, with a black boy up, Who said, 'You gim'me pair o' spurs, I win the bloomin' Melbourne Cup!' These two were to oppose The Trap For the Wargeilah Handicap!

They're off! The colt whipped down his head, And humped his back and gave a squeal, And bucked into the drinking shed, Revolving like a Cath'rine wheel! Men ran like rats! The atmosphere Was filled with oaths and pints of beer!

But up the course the bold Ah John Beside The Trap raced neck and neck: The boys had tied him firmly on, Which ultimately proved his wreck, The saddle turned, and, like a clown, He rode some distance upside down.

His legs around the horse were tied, His feet towards the heavens were spread, He swung and bumped at every stride And ploughed the ground up with his head! And when they rescued him, The Trap Had won Wargeilah Handicap!

And no enquiries we could make Could tell by what false statements swayed Ah John was led to undertake A task so foreign to his trade! He only smiled and said, 'Hoo Ki! I stop topside, I win all 'li!'

But never, in Wargeilah Town, Was heard so eloquent a cheer As when the President came down, And toasted, in Colonial Beer, 'The finest rider on the course! The winner of the Snowdon Horse!'

'You go and get your prize,' he said, 'He's with a wild mob, somewhere round The mountains near The Watershed; He's honestly worth fifty pound, A noble horse, indeed, to win, But none of US can run him in!

'We've chased him poor, we've chased him fat, We've run him till our horses dropped, But by such obstacles as that A man like you will not be stopped, You'll go and yard him any day, So here's your health! Hooray! Hooray!'

. . . . .

The day wound up with booze and blow And fights till all were well content, But of the new-chum, all I know Is shown by this advertisement -- 'For Sale, the well-known racehorse Trap, He won Wargeilah Handicap!'

Any Other Time

All of us play our very best game -- Any other time. Golf or billiards, it's all the same -- Any other time. Lose a match and you always say, 'Just my luck! I was 'off' to-day! I could have beaten him quite half-way -- Any other time!'

After a fiver you ought to go -- Any other time. Every man that you ask says 'Oh, Any OTHER time. Lend you a fiver! I'd lend you two, But I'm overdrawn and my bills are due, Wish you'd ask me -- now, mind you do -- Any other time!'

Fellows will ask you out to dine -- Any other time. 'Not to-night, for we're twenty-nine -- Any other time. Not to-morrow, for cook's on strike, Not next day, I'll be out on the bike -- Just drop in whenever you like -- Any other time!'

Seasick passengers like the sea -- Any other time. 'Something . . I ate . . disagreed . . with me! Any other time Ocean-trav'lling is . . simply bliss, Must be my . . liver . . has gone amiss . . Why, I would . . laugh . . at a sea . . like this -- Any other time.'

. . . . .

Most of us mean to be better men -- Any other time: Regular upright characters then -- Any other time. Yet somehow as the years go by Still we gamble and drink and lie, When it comes to the last we'll want to die -- Any other time!

The Last Trump

'You led the trump,' the old man said With fury in his eye, 'And yet you hope my girl to wed! Young man! your hopes of love are fled, 'Twere better she should die!

'My sweet young daughter sitting there, So innocent and plump! You don't suppose that she would care To wed an outlawed man who'd dare To lead the thirteenth trump!

'If you had drawn their leading spade It meant a certain win! But no! By Pembroke's mighty shade The thirteenth trump you went and played And let their diamonds in!

'My girl! Return at my command His presents in a lump! Return his ring! For understand No man is fit to hold your hand Who leads a thirteenth trump!

'But hold! Give every man his due And every dog his day. Speak up and say what made you do This dreadful thing -- that is, if you Have anything to say!'