"I'll keep these as souvenirs of the occasion," said Spud, indicating the imitation potatoes.
"How about it, Songbird, can't you rise to the occasion?" asked Dick, who had noticed that the student-poet had been unusually quiet while eating his cake and ice-cream.
"I have—er—just composed a little poem in honor of Max's birthday," answered Songbird. "If you'd like me to recite——"
"Sure thing!"
"Turn on the poetry spigot, Songbird, and let her flow!"
"This is not yet finished. But,—but——"
"Give us what you have," said Spud, and clearing his throat several times, Songbird began.
"Once more a year has rolled around—
As years have rolled before—
Once more we greet our loving friend—
A true friend to the core!
We hope that in the future he
Will win success and fame,
And go down in our history
A noble——"
"Once more a year has rolled around—
As years have rolled before—
Once more we greet our loving friend—
A true friend to the core!
We hope that in the future he
Will win success and fame,
And go down in our history
A noble——"
Bang! came the report of a gun, and the shot was so unexpected that Songbird forgot what he was going to say, and all those at the feast sprang to their feet. Bang! came a second report.