“I’ve thought a lot,” said Digger Smith—­
  “Out There I thought a lot. 
I thought uv death, an’ all the rest,
An’ uv me mates, good mates gone West;
  An’ it ain’t much I’ve got;
But things get movin’ in me ’ead
When I look over there,” ’e said.

’E’s got me beat, ’as little Smith. 
  I knoo ’im years ago
I knoo ’im as a reel tough boy
’Oo roughed it up with ’oly joy;
  But now, well, I dunno. 
An’ when I ask Mar Flood she sighs—­
An’ sez ’e’s got the Anzac eyes.

She sez ’e’s got them soldier’s eyes
  That makes ’er own eyes wet. 
An’ we must give ’im wholesome food
An’ lead ‘is thoughts to somethin’ good
  An’ never let ’im fret. 
But ‘e ain’t frettin’, seems to me;
More—­puzzled, fur as I can see.

The clouds above the hills was tore
  Apart, until, some’ow,
It seemed like some big, shinin’ gate. 
Said ’e, “Why, lad, I tell yeh straight,
  I feel like startin’ now,
An’ walkin’ on, an’ on, an’ thro’,
Dead game an’—­Ain’t it so to you?

“I’ve seen enough uv pain,” ’e said,
 “An’ cursin’, killin’ ’ordes. 
I ain’t the man to smooge with God
To get to ’Eaven on the nod,
  Or ’owl ’ymns for rewards. 
But this believin’?  Why—­Oh, ’Struth
This never ’it me in me youth.

“They talk uv love ’twixt men,” said ’e. 
  “That sounds dead crook to you. 
But lately I ’ave come to see.” . . . 
“’Old on,” I said; “it seems to me
  There’s love uv women too. 
An you?” ’E turns away ’is ’ead. 
“I’m only ’arf a man,” ’e said.

“I’ve seen so much uv death,” said ’e,
  “Me mind is in a whirl. 
I’ve ’ad so many thoughts uv late.” . . . 
Said I, “Now, tell me, tell me straight;
  Own up; ain’t there a girl?”
Said ’e, “I’ve done the best I can. 
Wot does she want with ’arf a man?”

It weren’t no use.  ’E wouldn’t talk
  Uv nothin’ but that sky. 
Said ‘e, “Now, dinkum, talkin’ square,
When you git gazin’ over there
  Don’t you ’arf want to cry? 
I wouldn’t be su’prised to see
An angel comin’ out,” said ’e.

“Gone West!” said Digger Smith.  “Ah, lad,
  I’ve seen ’em goin’ West,
An’ often wonder, when I look,
If they ’ave ’ad it dealt ’em crook,
  Or if they’ve got the rest
They earned twice over by the spell
They spent down in that dinkum ’Ell.”

The gold was creepin’ up, the sun
  Was ’arf be’ind the range. 
It don’t seem strange a man should cry
To see that glory in the sky
  To me it don’t seem strange. 
“Digger!” said ’e.  “Look at it now! 
There must be somethin’ else—­some’ow.”

VI.  OVER THE FENCE

Over the Fence

’Taint my idea uv argument to call a man a fool,
An’ I ain’t lookin’ round for bricks to ’eave at ole man Poole;
  But when ‘e gets disputin’ ’e’s inclined to lose ’is ’ead. 
  It ain’t so much ’is choice uv words as ’ow the words is said.