Poetry

money, just stick it
In oil and I know
Where you’ll pick up some dough.”
But I just didn’t stick it or pick it.

Guilford S. Wood

Railway Supplies, Chicago

This party sells railroad supplies,
And I hope he stings some of those guys.
His hobbies, you see,
Are oranges juicy
And prunes of respectable size

F. M. Zeiler

Stock Broker, Chicago

If you ever inquire of this bird
What stock tips, if any, he’s heard,
He’ll say in reply:
“Well, gentlemen, I
Am plunging in Holstein preferred.”

An Irish Love Lyric

I used to need money to spend and raise Hell,
But now I am stopping at this here hotel.
God bless you, St. Francis, Acushla Machree.
Aroona Corona, you’re all right with me.

The Deterrioration of Man

I suppose you’ve seen in some magazine,
These tales of Men’s Success:
How Alfred Stout, who was down and out,
Won wealth and happiness;
How Lucius Polk, who was stony broke,
Became well fixed for life.
They always say, “I’d be flat today
Except for my darling wife.”

Refrain:
I remember, I remember
When Man was quite a guy;
When he didn’t yelp for female help
To get him safely by;
When he beat the game and climbed to fame
By his courage and acumen.
But now, by gum, if he ain’t a bum,
It’s because of the Little Woman.

The Phantom Sister

David⁠—he is my youngest son;
There are, you know, three others⁠—
Appears to think it’s not much fun
To only just have brothers.

He likes them all, you understand,
But there is this objection:
They don’t wear pretty dresses and
They don’t crave his affection.

So he has added to the fold
A little sister, “Bessie.”
She’s just his age⁠—that’s three years old⁠—
And very awful dressy.

Yet she’s not vain, but seems to be
Of rather shy demeanor;
Outside of Dave, her family
Have not so much as seen her.

Which we regret, for as I say
Her clothes are awful pretty.
They come in truckloads every day
From stores in New York City.

But all the clothes and all the toys
Which David says he’s bought her
Are held as the exclusive joys
Of him and my new daughter.

For them and her, we take his word;
’Twere imbecile to flout him.
Hell has no fury like this bird
When you presume to doubt him!

Dave’s Imperturbability

When Davey, my kid, takes a tumble
And gets an abrasion or two,
If you dare sympathize, he coolly replies:
“It’s what I was trying to do”

When he smashes a toy he was fond of
Or bursts a balloon that’s brand new,
He’ll throw it away and brazenly say:
“It’s what I was trying to do.”

That’s Dave’s philosophical system,
And I think I will follow it, too;
When I foozle and err, I will boldly aver
It’s what I was trying to do

So, ye who don’t like these two pages,
Don’t think I’ll be angry with you
If ye say to me, “Fool, you have written plain drool”⁠—
That’s what I was trying to do.

Apology

I hardly ever see a roof
Which doesn’t shout, “Walk me, you goof!”
I hardly ever pass a tree
But that it barks, “You can’t climb me!”
And I am warned by every wall,
“Lay off me, Lardner, lest you fall!”

So what with always giving proof
That I’m a H‑ll cat on a roof,
And climbing every wall and tree
To show they ain’t too tough for me,
I fear that I’m inclined to shirk
What (laughingly) I call my work.

Home

A Poem

By Ernest L. Zopple

(Editor’s Note: Mr. Zopple’s verses are sold to papers all over Iowa. He makes an income of $20,000 a year and has a home in Pittsburgh.)

Before we had money, we lived in a flat,
The dear little woman and I.
There wasn’t no danger of us getting fat,
And the cellar was painfully dry.
But though we now boast of a house in Duluth
And go there in passenger coaches,
That house, it don’t seem like the home of our youth,
For a home ain’t a home without roaches

We now have twelve slaves at our beck and our call,
And Navajo rugs on the floor;
A platinum hat rack stands out in the hall;
There’s a pearl-studded knob on the door.
Sweet mother goes round with a mouthful of gold,
And wears South American brooches,
But somehow she ain’t the same gal as of old⁠—
And a home ain’t a home without roaches.

The house that we live in has vermin enough
To satisfy most folks’s taste.
In fact, many servants have quit in a huff
With bites from the neck to the waist.
The mice and the rats and the weasels crowd in
By thousands as winter approaches,
And mother and I⁠—well, we bear it and grin,
But a home ain’t a home without roaches.

The Constant Jay

Oh, will a day, I wonder ever be
When S. Jay Kaufman does not write to me!
Some days he just solicits information
Regarding where I’m going next vacation.
Some days he asks me (absolutely solemn)
To lay my work aside and write his column.
Some days he wants ten dollars, bucks, or beans,
To help the starving Middle-Europeans
I count that day a flop on land or on sea
When S. Jay Kaufman does not write to me!

Glossary

Bodkin

A napkin.

Mintie

A mitten.

Pote

A pencil.

Twos

Cards.

List of Illustrations

1. A line drawing of a man in a suit seated behind a desk with his feet propped up on the desk.

2. A line drawing of a man in a vest and bow tie seated with his children on his lap. Toys are strewn about the floor around his chair.

3. A line drawing of a man in a wide-brimmed hat with a very large bow tie. He is shown running and pushing along a tire with a stick. The tire has the text “Portage Tire” written on it.

4. A line drawing of a man in a suit standing up. Small line drawings of baseball players in avtion poses are depicted all around him.

5. A line drawing of a man with glasses wearing a suit. He is