"Want to hear some keen poetry?" asked Jerry, hoping to cheer Andy.
Andy showed no sign of wanting to but Jerry did not wait for encouragement. With a lilt of enjoyment in his voice he said a rhyme he had learned sometime—he could not remember when or where.
Gene, Gene—had a machine.
Joe, Joe—made it go.
Frank, Frank—turned the crank.
His mother came out and gave him a spank,
And threw him over a sandbank.
The last two lines Jerry said very rapidly, coming out good and strong on the word sandbank.
Like April weather Andy's stormy face turned sunny. "Say it again," he said delightedly.
Jerry obliged.
"Say it again," Andy begged when Jerry had finished the second time.
"Say, what do you think I am, a phonograph record?" asked Jerry. But he good-naturedly recited the rhyme a third time.
"I can say it," cried Andy. And he recited the rhyme without forgetting a word.
"Say, you can learn like a shot when you really want to," said Jerry admiringly.