Impertinent Poems Part 10

Don't you remember how you and I Held a property n.o.body wanted to buy In San Jose, Until one day A man came along from Franklin, Pa.?

And didn't we jump till we happened to find The chap wasn't going it wholly blind, But all the rest of the block was bought And he simply had to have our lot.

Well, didn't our land go up in price Till double the figures would scarce suffice?

And don't we sometimes figure and fret How he got the best of us, even yet?

Don't you remember the perfect plan You had, which needed another man To make it win, To jump right in And everlasting make things spin?

And you said I had the requisite dash And also the trifle of h.o.a.rded cash.

Was I glad to get in? Well, yes, indeed!

Until I saw the compelling need Which had brought you to me, and then, "Ho! ho!

None of that for me, nay, not for Joe."

And I'm always provoked when I think you made The plan get along without my aid.

Don't you remember the time we met At Des Moines, or was it at Winterset?

But anyway, you Were feeling blue And tickled to see me through and through.

And "Come, let's open a bottle of--ink,"

Said you, "and see if it's good to drink."

But weren't you sorry because you spoke When I had to tell you I was "broke"?

Oh, you lent me the saw-buck, I know, but still I fancied your ardor had taken a chill.

And you've never been able to quite forget That once I was "broke," and in your debt.

BETTER.

There's only one motto you need To succeed: "Better."

To other man's winning? Then you Must do Better.

From the baking of bread To the breaking a head, From rhyming a ballad To sliming a salad, From mending of ditches To spending of riches, Follow the rule to the uttermost letter: "Better!"

Of course you may say but a few Can do Better; And you're going to strive So that all may thrive Better.

And it's right you are To follow the star, Set in the heavens, afar, afar; But still with your eyes On the skies It is wise To be riding a mule, Or guiding a school, Thatching a hovel Or hatching a novel, Foretelling weather, Or selling shoe-leather; And remember you must Be doing it just A wee dust Better.

And 'tis quite As right For you to cite That the author might, Or ought, to write A heavenly sight Better!

For which sharp word I am much your debtor, Knowing none other could file my fetter Better.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "Saving repairs and wrath"

_Page 85._]

FORGET WHAT THE OTHER MAN HATH.

What do I care for your four-track line?

I have a country path; And this is the message I've taken for mine:-- "Forget what the other man hath."

What do I care for your giant trees?

I'd rather whittle a lath, And my motto helps me to take my ease;-- "Forget what the other man hath."

What do I care for your Newport beach?

A tub's as good for a bath.

And I keep my solace in constant reach:-- "Forget what the other man hath."

What do I care for your automobile?

I'm saving repairs and wrath, My proverb goes well with an old style wheel;-- "Forget what the other man hath."

What do I care if you scorn my rime?

For this is its aftermath;-- It sounds so well I shall try, (sometime,) To "forget what the other man hath!"

THE WHET.

The day that I loaf when I ought to employ it Has, somehow, the flavor which makes me enjoy it.

So the man with no work He may joyously s.h.i.+rk I envy no more than I do the Grand Turk.

He most is in need of a holiday, who, In this workaday world, has no duty to do.

The dollar you waste when you ought not to spend it Buys something no plutocrat's millions could lend it, For if once you exhaust All your care of the cost, Full half of the pleasure of purchase is lost, So I trust you are one who is wise in discerning The value of spending is most in the earning.

My little success which was nearest complete Was that which I tore from the teeth of defeat, And the man who can hit With his wisdom and wit Without any effort, I envy no whit.

The genius whose laurels grow always the greenest Finds pleasure in plenty, but misses the keenest.

WHAT SORT ARE YOU?

"How much do you want for your A. Street lot?"

Said a real estate man to me.

I looked as if I were lost in thought And then I replied: "Let's see;-- Black's sold last year at fifty the foot And without using algebra that should put My figure at sixty now, I guess, Or a trifle more, or a trifle less."

I was anxious to sell at fifty straight, Or I might have been glad of forty-eight.

Oh, yes, I'm a bit of a bluff, it's true; What sort of a bluff are you?

"And what do you think of these railroad rates?"

The man with a bald brow said, "For you have travelled through all the states And have heard a good deal and read."

"The railroad lines," I wisely replied "Are the lines with which our trade is tied, And the wretches who take their rebates set New knots in the bonds under which we fret."

But, now I remember, I once rode free And forgot that the road rebated me!

Oh, yes, I'm a bit of a bluff, its true; How much of a bluff are you?

"You've been to hear 'Siegfried' and found it fine?"