But until you show the goods, take a hike back to the woods,
For there’s nothing doing here for you to-day—day—day!”
The years went by and Tom improved; his work began to shine,
His batting and his fielding were immense.
His average jumped from .083 around .449,
While every day he splintered up some fence.
But in the meantime Mame’s old man began to lose his eye;
They canned him when his salary whip went dead.
So Tom, he passed her up for good, and now she wonders why
Them cruel words unto him once she said:
Chorus.
“I am the only daughter of a major league phenom,” etc.
PEN SNAPSHOT OF THE BRITISH FAN.
(Baseball is making a great hit in England. But even the exciting American game hasn’t been strenuous enough to arouse the lethargic Briton from his stolidness. The most exciting plays bring forth only faint applause, such as “Jolly well tried for, old chap.”—Item from Sportman’s Review.)
For eight fleeting innings the Warwickshire Browns
Had battled like fiends with the Berkshire brigade;
The grandstand was crowded by fans from the towns
All around who had come out to see the game played.
The hitting and fielding were simply immense,
No snappier game anywhere could be found;
They doubled and tripled and dented the fence,
While one-handed pick-ups were pulled off each round.
With the home team at bat, some performer of brawn
Scored three with a triple—a terrible smash;
His lordship remarked as he stifled a yawn,
“Bloody clever, old chap,” and then twirled his mustache.