FITTE THE FOURTH.
Then from that tub and from that room
He gat with vast ado;
At every hop he gave a shake
And—how the water flew!
He paddled down the winding stairs
And to the parlor hied,
Dispensing pools of foamy suds
And slop on every side.
Upon the carpet then he rolled
And brushed against the wall,
And, horror! whisked his lathery sides
On overcoat and shawl.
Attracted by the dreadful din,
His mistress came below—
Who, who can speak her wonderment—
Who, who can paint her woe!
Great smears of soap were here and there—
Her startled vision met
With blots of lather everywhere,
And everything was wet!
Then Mrs. Taylor gave a shriek
Like one about to die;
"Get out—get out, and don't you dare
Come in till you are dry!"
With that she opened wide the door
And waved the critter through;
Out in the circumambient air
With grateful yelp he flew.