"No; but you know there is one of those triple mirrors in one of the department stores, and poor dear Fido spent fifteen minutes chasing around it trying to find the other dog. I thought I'd never get him out of that store."
Ever been through the Chinese quarter down around Mott Street, where you can smell the incense of the joss-sticks burning before the ugly little idols?
I saw in the paper the other day about a fellow who had come from Korea with samples of idols that he wanted an American firm to manufacture, and it begins to look as though presently our enterprising Yankees might corral this trade along with everything else.
That gave me an inspiration which I set down in verse—if you'd like to hear the result I don't mind one bit, so prepare to weep, for here it goes:
The heathen in his blindness
Bows down to wood and stone—
Some idol inexpensive
He puts upon a throne;
But now we'll teach the heathen
The error of his way,
And sell him modern idols
Made in the U. S. A.
We'll lift the foolish heathen
From groping in the dust.
And change and civilize him—
We'll form an Idol Trust.
For ages he has groveled
In superstition dim
But now we'll help his progress
By making gods for him.
No seven-handed figures;
No gods with coiling tails:
No birds, no bugs, no serpents,
No animals, nor whales—
No, sir! He'll have our idols:
A shovelful of coal,
A meter, and an oil can
To terrify his soul.
A bonnet and a ribbon:
A bargain ad.—the strife
They'll cause will make the heathen
Yearn for a better life.
The poor benighted pagan
Will come out of the dark
And bow before our idol—
The mighty dollar mark!