Joe Wilson and His Mates [18]
I tried sleeping in another room,
but for nights after Jim's first attack I'd be just dozing off
into a sound sleep, when I'd hear him scream, as plain as could be,
and I'd hear Mary cry, `Joe! -- Joe!' -- short, sharp, and terrible --
and I'd be up and into their room like a shot, only to find them
sleeping peacefully. Then I'd feel Jim's head and his breathing
for signs of convulsions, see to the fire and water,
and go back to bed and try to sleep. For the first few nights
I was like that all night, and I'd feel relieved when daylight came.
I'd be in first thing to see if they were all right;
then I'd sleep till dinner-time if it was Sunday or I had no work.
But then I was run down about that time: I was worried about some money
for a wool-shed I put up and never got paid for; and, besides,
I'd been pretty wild before I met Mary.
I was fighting hard then -- struggling for something better.
Both Mary and I were born to better things, and that's what made the life
so hard for us.
Jim got on all right for a while: we used to watch him well,
and have his teeth lanced in time.
It used to hurt and worry me to see how -- just as he was getting fat and rosy
and like a natural happy child, and I'd feel proud to take him out --
a tooth would come along, and he'd get thin and white and pale
and bigger-eyed and old-fashioned. We'd say, `He'll be safe
when he gets his eye-teeth': but he didn't get them till he was two;
then, `He'll be safe when he gets his two-year-old teeth':
they didn't come till he was going on for three.
He was a wonderful little chap -- Yes, I know all about parents thinking
that their child is the best in the world. If your boy is small for his age,
friends will say that small children make big men; that he's a very bright,
intelligent child, and that it's better to have a bright, intelligent child
than a big, sleepy lump of fat. And if your boy is dull and sleepy,
they say that the dullest boys make the cleverest men --
and all the rest of it. I never took any notice of that sort of clatter --
took it for what it was worth; but, all the same, I don't think I ever saw
such a child as Jim was when he turned two. He was everybody's favourite.
They spoilt him rather. I had my own ideas about bringing up a child.
I reckoned Mary was too soft with Jim. She'd say, `Put that'
(whatever it was) `out of Jim's reach, will you, Joe?' and I'd say,
`No! leave it there, and make him understand he's not to have it.
Make him have his meals without any nonsense, and go to bed
at a regular hour,' I'd say. Mary and I had many a breeze over Jim.
She'd say that I forgot he was only a baby: but I held that a baby
could be trained from the first week; and I believe I was right.
But, after all, what are you to do? You'll see a boy that was
brought up strict turn out a scamp; and another that was dragged up anyhow
(by the hair of the head, as the saying is) turn out well.
Then, again, when a child is delicate -- and you might lose him any day --
you don't like to spank him, though he might be turning out a little fiend,
as delicate children often do. Suppose you gave a child a hammering,
and the same night he took convulsions, or something, and died --
how'd you feel about it? You never know what a child is going to take,
any more than you can tell what some women are going to say or do.
I was very fond of Jim, and we were great chums. Sometimes I'd sit and wonder
what the deuce he was thinking about, and often, the way he talked,
he'd make me uneasy. When he was two he wanted a pipe above all things,
and I'd get him a clean new clay and he'd sit by my side,
on the edge of the verandah, or on a log of the wood-heap,
in the cool of the evening, and suck away at his pipe, and try to spit
when he saw me do it. He seemed to understand that a cold empty pipe
wasn't quite the thing, yet to have the sense to know that he couldn't
smoke tobacco yet: he made the best he could of things.
And if he broke a clay pipe he wouldn't have a new one, and there'd
but for nights after Jim's first attack I'd be just dozing off
into a sound sleep, when I'd hear him scream, as plain as could be,
and I'd hear Mary cry, `Joe! -- Joe!' -- short, sharp, and terrible --
and I'd be up and into their room like a shot, only to find them
sleeping peacefully. Then I'd feel Jim's head and his breathing
for signs of convulsions, see to the fire and water,
and go back to bed and try to sleep. For the first few nights
I was like that all night, and I'd feel relieved when daylight came.
I'd be in first thing to see if they were all right;
then I'd sleep till dinner-time if it was Sunday or I had no work.
But then I was run down about that time: I was worried about some money
for a wool-shed I put up and never got paid for; and, besides,
I'd been pretty wild before I met Mary.
I was fighting hard then -- struggling for something better.
Both Mary and I were born to better things, and that's what made the life
so hard for us.
Jim got on all right for a while: we used to watch him well,
and have his teeth lanced in time.
It used to hurt and worry me to see how -- just as he was getting fat and rosy
and like a natural happy child, and I'd feel proud to take him out --
a tooth would come along, and he'd get thin and white and pale
and bigger-eyed and old-fashioned. We'd say, `He'll be safe
when he gets his eye-teeth': but he didn't get them till he was two;
then, `He'll be safe when he gets his two-year-old teeth':
they didn't come till he was going on for three.
He was a wonderful little chap -- Yes, I know all about parents thinking
that their child is the best in the world. If your boy is small for his age,
friends will say that small children make big men; that he's a very bright,
intelligent child, and that it's better to have a bright, intelligent child
than a big, sleepy lump of fat. And if your boy is dull and sleepy,
they say that the dullest boys make the cleverest men --
and all the rest of it. I never took any notice of that sort of clatter --
took it for what it was worth; but, all the same, I don't think I ever saw
such a child as Jim was when he turned two. He was everybody's favourite.
They spoilt him rather. I had my own ideas about bringing up a child.
I reckoned Mary was too soft with Jim. She'd say, `Put that'
(whatever it was) `out of Jim's reach, will you, Joe?' and I'd say,
`No! leave it there, and make him understand he's not to have it.
Make him have his meals without any nonsense, and go to bed
at a regular hour,' I'd say. Mary and I had many a breeze over Jim.
She'd say that I forgot he was only a baby: but I held that a baby
could be trained from the first week; and I believe I was right.
But, after all, what are you to do? You'll see a boy that was
brought up strict turn out a scamp; and another that was dragged up anyhow
(by the hair of the head, as the saying is) turn out well.
Then, again, when a child is delicate -- and you might lose him any day --
you don't like to spank him, though he might be turning out a little fiend,
as delicate children often do. Suppose you gave a child a hammering,
and the same night he took convulsions, or something, and died --
how'd you feel about it? You never know what a child is going to take,
any more than you can tell what some women are going to say or do.
I was very fond of Jim, and we were great chums. Sometimes I'd sit and wonder
what the deuce he was thinking about, and often, the way he talked,
he'd make me uneasy. When he was two he wanted a pipe above all things,
and I'd get him a clean new clay and he'd sit by my side,
on the edge of the verandah, or on a log of the wood-heap,
in the cool of the evening, and suck away at his pipe, and try to spit
when he saw me do it. He seemed to understand that a cold empty pipe
wasn't quite the thing, yet to have the sense to know that he couldn't
smoke tobacco yet: he made the best he could of things.
And if he broke a clay pipe he wouldn't have a new one, and there'd