But Sunday sat in church pew and bawled a mighty chant,
Or railed against men’s vices with Puritanic rant.
Ned buttonholed old Bowser, a wily, canny runt,
Who’d beat deserving clients by doing bankrupt’s stunt.
Old Bowser told his sister, the village gossip kind
Quite “confidential-like” spake to her “who speak my mind.”
Miss Bowser told the Hearts’ Club of wondrous pedigree,
Who all exclaimed “how dreadful,” at poor Tom’s plight you see.
The Club then told their “hubbies,” all men of great renown,
Of more or less veracity, who quickly told the “town.”