HUMBLE MERIT
“No prince nor poet proud am I,
Nor scion of an ancient clan;
I cannot place my rank so high—
I'm the Codliver Capsule Man.
“No soulful sonnets I indite,
Nor do I play the pipes of Pan;
In five small words my place I write—
I'm the Codliver Capsule Man.
“No soldier bold, with many scars,
Nor hacking, slashing partisan;
I have not galloped to the wars—
I'm the Codliver Capsule Man.
“No, mine is not the wounding steel,
My life is on a gentler plan;
My mission is to cure and heal—
I'm the Codliver Capsule Man.
“I do not cause the poor distress
By hoarding all the gold I can;
I, advertising, pay the press—
I'm the Codliver Capsule Man.
“And if no sonnets I can write,
Pray do not put me under ban;
Remember, if your blood turns white,
I'm the Codliver Capsule Man!”
“Well,” asked Biggs, the morning after I had delivered the poem, “how did she take it?”
I looked at Biggs suspiciously. If I had seen a glimmer of an indication that he was fooling with me, I would have killed him; but he seemed to be perfectly serious.
“Was that poem intended to be humorous?” I asked.
“Why, yes! Yes! Certainly so,” Biggs replied. “At least it was supposed to be witty; to provoke a smile and good humor at least.”
“Then, Biggs,” I said, “it was a glorious success. They smiled. They smiled right out loud. In fact, they shouted. The poet and I had to pour water on Kate to get her out of the hysterics. It is all right, of course, to be funny; but the next time don't be so awful funny. It is not worth while. I like to see Kate laugh, if it helps my cause; but I don't want to have her die of laughter. It would defeat my ends.”
“That is so,” said Biggs, thoughtfully. “Did she say anything?”
“Yes,” I said; “when she was able to speak, she asked me if the poem was a love poem.”
“What did you tell her?” asked Biggs, and he leaned low over his desk, turning over papers.