Produced by Malcolm Farmer, William Flis, and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team.
DEAR CHARLIE,--Rum mix this 'ere world is, yer never know _wot_'ll come next! Don't emagine I've sent yer a sermon, and treacle this out as my text; But really life's turn-ups are twisters. You lay out for larks, 'ealth, and tin, But whenever you think it's "a moral," that crock, "Unexpected," romps in.
Who'd ha' thought of _me_ jacking up suddent, and giving the Sawbones a turn? Who'd ha' pictered _me_ "Taking the Waters"? Ah! CHARLIE, 'twos hodds on the Urn With Yours Truly, this time, I essure you. I fancied as Tot'nam-Court Road Would he trying its 'and on my tombstone afore the green corn wos full growed.
_Bad_, CHARLIE? You bet! 'Twas screwmatics and liver, old Pill-box declared. Knocked me slap orf my perch, fair 'eels uppards. I tell you I felt a bit scared, And it left me a yaller-skinned skelinton, weak, and, wot's wus, stoney-broke. If it hadn't a bin for my nunky, your pal might have jest done a croak.
Uncle NOBBS, a Cat's-butcher at Clapton, who's bin in luck's way, and struck ile, Is dead nuts on Yours Truly. Old josser, and grumpy, but _he_'s made his pile. Saw me settin' about in the garden, jest like a old saffron-gill'd ghost A-waiting for cock-crow to 'ook it, and hanxious to 'ear it--a'most.
Sez he, "Wy, the boy is a bone-bag! Wot's that? Converlescent? Oh, fudge! He's a slipping his cable, and drifting out sea-wards, if _I_'m any judge. I was ditto some twenty year back, BOB, and 'Arrygate fust set _me_ up. Wot saved the old dog, brother ROBERT, may probably suit the young pup.
"Carn't _afford_ it? O'course yer carn't, JENNY; but--thanks be to 'orse-flesh--_I_ can--" Well, he tipped us a fifty-quid crisp 'un--and ROOSE sent me 'ere; he's _my_ Man! Three weeks' "treatment"! Well, threes into fifty means cutting a bit of a dash; Good grub, nobby togs, local doctor, baths, waters, and everythink flash.
"'Appy 'ARRY!" sez you. But way-oh, CHARLIE! 'Arrygate isn't all jam. _Me_ jolly? Well, mate, if you arsk me, I carn't 'ardly say as I ham. To spread myself out with the toppers is proper, no doubt, bonny boy; But--I wish it wos Brighton, or Margit, or somewheres a chap could _enjoy_.