If Antoinette, dear Antoinette, were simply to suggest
That question, don't you think that I would quickly do the rest?
Well, you'd be wrong, because, alas! a year ago—or two—
She asked Jim what he wanted, and the lucky chap said "You!"
THE NEIGHBORS
For years and years I practiced—
Tum-tum, tum-tum, tee-tum!
Pounding up and down the scale,
White keys, black keys—
They all fell beneath my faithful hammering;
And then—my pretty neighbor across the street
Put in a player-piano that could tear a hole
Through classics that I'd never learned even to dent!
I was mad—hopping mad—
But I got even with her.
(She was studying for the operatic stage.)
I bought a phonograph—cheap—
And some records—not cheap.
They made her gargling voice
Sound like an imitation with a small i.
Then we both laughed—and quit our exercises.
To-day she's a moving picture actress,
Using her big eyes in a financially-effective way,
While I write things in prose or jingle
Or verse that is free-on-bail.
Sometimes I get by with it; and
Sometimes she doesn't spoil a film—
Isn't the public lucky that we didn't
Stick to our callings?
UNCLE BILL'S IDEA
I've figgered out that worryin' don't pay a little bit,
Fer every feller's got to have some trouble in his day;
An' wonderin' what's comin' next don't help to sidetrack hit—
You can't foretell afflictions, or stop 'em, thataway!
It's better jest to take what's sent
And stand it, ef you ain't content!
Looks like to me that every one has got a large amount
Of things to bear that he don't like, as through this life he goes;
And though of happy days we're apt to lose the rightful count,
Things even up before we die, as every old man knows.
There ain't no great monopoly
On sickness ner bad luck, I gee!
We've got to stand our share of pain and meet a heap of sorrow;
We've got to shoulder burdens that no one likes to tote;
But worryin' about the load, and thinkin' of th' morrow
Don't make it one mite easier, er cheerfuller, I note!
Th' way to do is jest t' grin
And hope for better times ag'in;
"But I can't grin!" some people say.
Then don't—but bear it, anyway!
'LIZABETH ANN'S PICTURE
Ma wanted a good, new picture of me; so pa says, "'Lizabeth Ann,
You come down town at noon to-day, and we'll go to the picture man;
But don't tell mother—we'll have a surprise for her on Christmas day,
And give her a real nice photograft—I know just what she will say."
"Oh, goody!" I says, "I am awful glad! I'll be there at noon, you see."
(I like to have a secret with pa—it's awful much fun for me.)
I runned away at 'leven o'clock, and ma didn't see me go,
Although I had dressed in my very best—and that takes time, you know—
My party frock, and my best kid shoes; my furs and my "picture" hat,
And my new red coat—the one she says, "Be careful, my dear, of that."
And when I got to his office, pa looked awful surprised, and said,
"Dear me, what a dressed-up little girl! Why, really, you turn my head!"