And some's a-limpin' round here yit-- a-waitin' Last Review,-- 'U'd give the pensions 'at they git, and pawn their crutches, too, To he'p Doc out, ef he wuz pressed financial'--same as he Has _allus_ he'pped them when distressed-- ner never tuk a fee. [Illustration] [Illustration] XCII Doc never wuz much hand to pay attention to _p'tence_ And fuss-and-feathers and display in men o' prominence: "A railly _great_ man," Sifers 'lows, "is not the out'ard dressed-- All uniform, salutes and bows, and swellin' out his chest. XCIII "I _met_ a great man onc't," Doc says, "and shuk his hand," says he, "And _he_ come 'bout in _one_, I guess, o' disapp'intin' _me_-- He talked so common-like, and brought his mind so cle'r in view And simple-like, I purt'-nigh thought, '_I'm_ best man o' the two!'" XCIV Yes-_sir_! Doc's got convictions and old-fashioned kind o' ways And idies 'bout this glorious Land o' Freedom; and he'll raise His hat clean off, no matter where, jes ever' time he sees The Stars and Stripes a-floatin' there and flappin' in the breeze. [Illustration] XCV And tunes like old "Red, White and Blue" 'll fairly drive him wild, Played on the brass band, marchin' through the streets! Jes like a child I've saw that man, his smile jes set, all kind o' pale and white, Bare-headed, and his eyes all wet, yit dancin' with delight! XCVI And yit, that very man we see all trimbly, pale and wann, Give him a case o' _surgery_, we'll see another man!-- _We_'ll do the trimblin' then, and _we_'ll git white around the gills-- He'll show us _nerve_ o' nerves, and he 'ull show us _skill_ o' skills! XCVII _Then_ you could toot your horns and beat your drums and bang your guns, And wave your flags and march the street, and charge, all Freedom's sons!-- And Sifers _then_, I bet my hat, 'u'd never flinch a hair, But, stiddy-handed, 'tend to that pore patient layin' there. XCVIII And Sifers' _eye_'s as stiddy as that hand o' his!--He'll shoot A' old-style rifle, like he has, and smallest bore, to boot, With any fancy rifles made to-day, er expert shot 'At works at shootin' like a _trade_-- and all _some_ of 'em's got! [Illustration] XCIX Let 'em go right out in the _woods_ with Doc, and leave their "traps" And blame glass-balls and queensware-goods, and see how Sifers draps A squirrel out the tallest tree.-- And 'fore he fires he'll say Jes where he'll hit him--yes, sir-_ee_! And he's hit thataway! C