The Speculators

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 wouldn'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 couldn'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.'