Classic Poem

Shine ?—All right; here y' are, boss!
Do it for jest five cents.
Get 'em fixed in a minute,—
That is, 'f nothin' perwents.

Set your foot right there, sir.
Mornin's kinder' cold,—
Goes right through a feller,
When his coat 's a gittin' old.

Well, yes,—call it a coat, sir,
Though 't much more 'n a tear.
Git another!—I can't, boss;
Ain't got the stamps to spare.

‘Make as much as most on 'em!’
Yes; but then, yer see,
They've only got one to do for,—
There's two on us, Jack and me.

Him?—Why, that little feller
With a curus lookin' back,
Sittin' there on the gratin',
Warmin' hisself,—that's Jack.

Used to go round sellin' papers,
The cars there was his lay;
But he got shoved off of the platform
Under the wheels one day.

Fact,—the conductor did it,—
Gin him a reg'lar throw,—
He didn't care if he killed him;
Some on 'em is just so.

He's never been all right since, sir,
Sorter quiet and queer;
Him and me goes together,
He's what they call cashier.

Style, that 'ere, for a boot-black,—
Made the fellers laugh;
Jack and me had to take it,
But we don't mind no chaff.

Trouble!—not much, you bet, boss!
Sometimes, when biz is slack,
I don't know how I'd manage
If 't wa'n't for little Jack.

You jest once orter hear him:
He says we need n't care
How rough luck is down here, sir,
If some day we git up there.

All done now,—how's that, sir?
Shines like a pair of lamps.
Mornin'!—Give it to Jack, sir,
He looks after the stamps.