He
flung his hat to the barkeeper, and his coat on a chair, ruffled
his fingers through his thick auburn hair, and holding the pail
under one arm, he paused, panting for breath and begging for
more. The Thread Man sat on the edge of his chair, and the eyes
he fastened on Jimmy were beginning to fill with interest.
"Come fill the Cup and in the fire of Spring
Your Winter-Garment of Repentance fling.
The bird of time has but a little way to flutter
And the bird is on the wing."
Smash came the milk pail across the bar. "Hooray!" shouted
Jimmy. "Besht yet!" Bang! Bang! He was off." Bird ish on the
wing," he chanted, and his feet flew. "Come fill the cup, and in
the firesh of spring--Firesh of Spring, Bird ish on the Wing!"
Between the music of the milk pail, the brogue of the panted
verses, and the grace of Jimmy's flying feet, the Thread Man was
almost prostrate. It suddenly came to him that here might be a
chance to have a great time.
"More!" gasped Jimmy. "Me some more!" The Thread Man wiped his
eyes.
"Wether the cup with sweet or bitter run,
The wine of life keeps oozing drop by drop,
The leaves of life keep falling one by one."
Away went Jimmy.
"Swate or bitter run,
Laves of life kape falling one by one.
Pages:
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96