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At Ivanhoe

Edward S. Sorenson

Flash McIvor, whose initial name was Andy,
    Was a shearer and a rouseabout as well;
Though his legs were somewhat thin and rather bandy,
    He’d jump anything from here to Inverell.
He had won among the sheds a dozen matches
    Ere he landed at the pub near Ivanhoe;
And as usual he was looking out for catches,
    So they set him on to Wonnaminta Joe.

Joe agreed to back a dark ‘un for a fiver—
    “Just a squeaky native mite from Long Lagoon.”
“It’s a wager—money up,” said Flash McIvor,
    And the stakes were handed o’er to Pat Muldoon.
Then he stripped and took a nip his nerves to steady
    While the loungers at the shanty gathered round.
“Go ahead,” said Wonnaminta, “I am ready,”
    And he placed an oblong matchbox on the ground.

Soon the great contest began. ‘Twas Andy led it,
    And his jumping was both elegant and neat;
Joe admitted his performance did him credit,
    For it measured just an even thirteen feet.
They pegged down a cord to mark it, as was proper,
    And they called on Joe to bring his native lout;
So he raised the lid—and showed a fat grasshopper,
    Which he tenderly and deftly lifted out.

He had tied its wings down to its ribs with cotton,
    Just a tiny little band of silken thread,
Since the use of them would put its backer’s pot on—
    ‘Twas desired to make it use its legs instead;
And he placed it on the scratch mid cheers and laughter,
    And the way that insect bounded made ‘em stare—
Went beyond the cord a half a yard; and after
    Flash McIvor owned it had a bit to spare.

As the man for Wonnaminta took the fiver,
    One stepped forth who had but just come down the track,
And he spoke in tones sarcastic to McIvor,
    As he hitched the bulky bundle on his back;
“Well, a man who’d let a pesky insek beat him,
    Shouldn’t gas about his jumpin’ any more!”
Said McIvor, “I’ll jump you—or I will eat him”—
    And he pointed to the hopper on the floor.

Now, the swagman was an ancient, and rheumatic,
    So he said that jumping wasn’t in his line;
But he added, in a way that was emphatic,
    “Bet five quid you cannot jump this swag of mine,
When I lay it on the v’randah. You may clear it,
    But you’ve got to jump it backwards, understand;
There is nothing ‘bout the swag that you may fear it,
  Just a bundle of the ordinary brand.”

Well, McIvor thought the old chap was erratic,
    And he looked a loony sort of person too;
He accepted in a manner quite ecstatic,
    Such a simple thing it seemed for him to do;
But McIvor didn’t jump it, never tried to,
    For that whaler man was wily after all;
Sure enough he dropped the swag, as you or I’d do,
    But he placed it lengthwise hard against the wall!

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