Only page of title Very Easy
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5
The sullen guard was soon awake,
And threw my luggage down, for spite,
To where the platform seemed a lake;
And did his best my box to break.
When sidled up a porter; straight,
He mopped the platform with a broom,
And, kneeling, made the well-filled grate
Blaze up within the waiting-room,
And so dispelled the usual gloom.
Which done, he came and took his seat
Beside me, doffed his coat, untied
His bootlaces, and let his feet
Peep coyly out on either side;
Then called me. When no voice replied,
He rolled his shirt-sleeve up, and rose,
And laid his brawny biceps bare,
And, where my eyebrows meet my nose,
He slowly shook his fist, just there,
And seized me by my yellow hair.
A head as empty as a bubble?
Bidding me sternly, did I not
Desire henceforth to see things double,
To give him something for his trouble.
Nor could my arguments prevail;
Entreaties, threats were all in vain!
Returned he to the twice-told tale
Of how, from out the midnight train,
He bore my luggage through the rain.
I fixed him with my cold grey eye,
But all in vain; at last I knew
That porter hated me; (though why
I cannot understand, can you? )
And what on earth was I to do!
Next moment, though I still perspire
To think of it, I quickly found
A thing to do; and on the fire
I pushed him backwards with a bound,
And piled the coal up all around.
As a shut coop that holds a hen,
I oped the register and smelt
An odour as of burnt quill-pen.
My laughter bubbled over then.
I seized him lightly, with the tongs
About his waist; and through the door
I bore him, burning with my wrongs,
And laid him on the line. What's more,
The down express was due at four.
A gruesome stain, I must confess,
And, when I pass, it makes me ill
To note the somewhat painful mess
Concocted by the down express.
Portknockie's porter; so he died.
The date of inquest is deferred.
'Tis thought a case of suicide;
And he who might have seen or heard, --
The guard, -- has never said a word.
End of title
