He scattered change like oatmeal fed to chickens;
His pile soon melted down like snow—
In July. His banker sent a gentle invitation
To straighten his o’erdrawn account.
He did. He sent a bullet in his brain
And never stopped to ask the amount.
The lavish legacy of Frank Legree
No doubt is sorrowing him yet;
Lieu of an earthly million francs in gold,
He’s serving time for soul lost debt.