An' won't go 'way.
Sez 'e was sent there be a pal named Flood;
An' talks uv contracts sealed with Flanders mud.

"No matter wot they say, 'e only grins,"
Sez Poole. "'E's rather wobbly on 'is pins.
Seems like a soldier bloke. An' Peter Begg
'E sez one leg
Works be machinery, but I dunno.
I only know 'e's there an' 'e won't go.

"'E grins," sez Poole, "at ev'rything they say.
Dad Flood 'as nearly 'ad a fit to-day.
'E's cursed, an' ordered 'im clean off the place;
But this cove's face
Jist goes on grinnin', an' 'e sez, quite carm,
'E's come to do a bit around the farm."

The tale don't sound too good to me at all.
"If 'e's a crook," I sez, "'e wants a fall.
Maybe 'e's dilly. I'll go down an' see.
'E'll grin at me
When I 'ave done, if 'e needs dealin' with."
So I goes down to interview this Smith.

'E 'ad a fork out in the tater patch.
Sez 'e, "Why 'ello, Digger. Got a match?"
"Digger?" I sez. "Well, you ain't digger 'ere.
You better clear.
You ought to know that you can't dig them spuds.