So the nights are nights of comfort and I mostly can forget
That the days are days of diggin’,--cold and muddy, lame and wet.
For Fd rather have a backache than a rattled, burnin’ brain,
And I guess I’m fair contented with the clam flats here in Maine.
For I’m thinkin’ worried critters in the rushin’, pushin’ jams
Likely’nough ain’t nigh so happy as we fellers diggin’ clams.
Dan’l and Dunk and the yaller dog were the owners and crew of the Pollywog,
A hand-line smack that cuffed the seas’twixt ’Tinicus Head and Point Quahaug.
Dunk owned half and Dan owned half, and the yaller dog was also joint,
They fished and ate and swapped their bait and always agreed on every point.
--Dunk to Dan and Dan to Dunk,-- Whenever he chawed would pass the hunk;
Never a “hitch” more friendly than That of the dog and Dunk and Dan.
They labored steady and labored square, fairly dividing every fare,
And never could anything break their bonds, each to the other would often swear.
But alas, one day in a joking way they fell on the topic of years and age,
And tackled the subject of boughten teeth, and spirited argument they did wage.
For Dan insisted that sets of teeth were glued to the sides of the wearers’ jaws,
--Never had seen ’em, he frankly owned, but he knew ’twas so, “wal, jest because.” While Dunk, with notions fully as firm, clawed at his frosty whisker fringe,
And allowed that he knew that sets of teeth were hitched together with spring and hinge.
So, still perverse, they argued on--the quarrel, you see, was their very first;
’Twas as though they had taken a sip of brine; the more they quaffed, the worse their thirst.
They argued early and argued late and the dog surveyed them with wistful look For, the more they talked the worse they balked, and forgot to fish or eat or cook.
And rancor spread its sullen fog ‘Twixt Dunk and Dan and the yaller dog.
At last old Dunk uprose and cried, “Say old hoss-mack’ril, blast yer hide,
I’m sick of clack and fuss and gab; it’s time, I reckin, that we divide.
An’ seein’ as how I’ve spoke the fust, I’ll take the starn-end here for mine.”
With chalk he zoned the dingy deck and roared, “Git for’rard acrost that line!”
He lighted his pipe and twirled the wheel and calmly then he crossed his knees.