'Twas a Poem About Gentle Spring.

Editor of the Weekly Whoop (alone):–"Been up all night with the baby, head aches, three libel suits on hand, men on strike, subscriptions falling off, what next? Murder would be a pastime fer me now—Come in!!!"

Editor W. W.:–"What! a poem on Spring! I'll spring you—!!!"

Small Quiet Party:–"Excuse me, sir, jist hold on a minute—"

"I didn't expect to have to do no fightin', but if I must I'll have to get this 'ere coat off. Jist go up there a half a second!!"

Editor:–"Wha–Wha–What do you want?"

Small Party:–"I was a-givin' Mr. Snees, the poet, a sparrin' lesson an' he says, jist slip my coat on an' run over to the Weekly Whoop with this 'ere Spring poem, while I git me breath."

Editor W. W.:–"Who are you?"

Small Party:–"Jist excuse me—

a half a second—

and—

I'll give you—

my card—Professor Bolero, Cannon Ball Tosser and Lightning Change Artist, sir, to the Crowned Heads of Europe, sir."

Small Party:–"I'm a poor man, sir, with a large family, sir, an' I'd be very thankful for any small jobs, sir, like givin' you sparrin' lessons, or massage, or takin' care of the furnace, sir!"

Editor W. W.:–"Well, call in again, Professor. This is my busy day."