The night was stormy and dark, The town was shut up in sleep: Only those were abroad who were out on a lark, Or those who'd no beds to keep.
I pass'd through the lonely street, The wind did sing and blow; I could hear the policeman's feet Clapping to and fro.
There stood a potato-man In the midst of all the wet; He stood with his‘ tato-can In the lonely Hay-market.
Two gents of dismal mien, And dank and greasy rags, Came out of a shop for gin, Swaggering over the flags:
Swaggering over the stones, These shabby bucks did walk; And I went and followed those seedy ones, And listened to their talk.
Was I sober or awake? Could I believe my ears? Those dismal beggars spake Of nothing but railroad shares.
I wondered more and more: Says one — “Good friend of mine, How many shares have you wrote for, In the Diddlesex Junction line?”
“I wrote for twenty,” says Jim, “But they would n't give me one;” His comrade straight rebuked him For the folly he had done:
“O Jim, you are unawares Of the ways of this bad town; I always write for five hundred shares, And THEN they put me down.”
“And yet you got no shares,” Says Jim, “for all your boast;” “I WOULD have wrote,” says Jack, “but where Was the penny to pay the post?”
“I lost, for I could n't pay That first instalment up; But here's‘ taters smoking hot — I say, Let's stop, my boy, and sup.”
And at this simple feast The while they did regale, I drew each ragged capitalist Down on my left thumbnail.
Their talk did me perplex, All night I tumbled and tost, And thought of railroad specs, And how money was won and lost.
“Bless railroads everywhere,” I said, “and the world's advance; Bless every railroad share In Italy, Ireland, France;
For never a beggar need now despair, And every rogue has a chance.”
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