This Man Jones. (Sweet-Knot and Galamus)

This man Jones was what you'd call
A feller 'at had no sand at all;
Kind o' consumpted, and undersize,
And sailor-complected, with big sad eyes,
And a kind-of-a sort-of-a hang-dog style,
And a sneakin' sort-of-a half-way smile
'At kind o' give him away to us
As a preacher, maybe, er somepin' wuss.

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

Ust to rattle him scandalous,
And keep the feller a-dodgin' us,
And a-shyin' round half skeered to death,
And afeerd to whimper above his breath;
Give him a cussin', and then a kick,
And then a kind-of-a back-hand lick --
Jes' far the fun of seem' him climb
Around with a head on most 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, or De La Pierre? --
Well, no matter -- a stunnin' mash,
With a red-ripe lip, and a long eye-lash,
And a figger sich as the angels owns --
And one too many far this man Jones.

He'd allus wake in the afternoon,
As the band waltzed in on the lion-tune,
And there, from the time 'at 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 beasts raw meat with her naked hand" --
And all that business, you understand.

And it _was_ resky in that den --
Far I think she juggled three cubs then,
And a big "green" lion 'at used to smash
Collar-bones far old Frank Nash;
And I reckon now she hain't fergot
The afternoon old "Nero" sot
His paws on _her_! -- but as far me,
It's a sort-of-a mixed-up mystery: --

Kind o' remember an awful roar,
And see her back far the bolted door --
See the cage rock -- heerd her call
"God have mercy! " and that was all --
Far they ain't 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 'at 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, far the doctor said,
Seein' as this man Jones was dead,
Better to jes' not let her know
Nothin' o' that far a week er so.