Which grandson would “touch” now and then;
For Willie since leaving his fond, doting nurse
Had not had real work in his ken.
Now once on a time, after dinner, at nine,
Which is really the time for a “touch,”
Old granddad sat reading of terrible war,
Whose horrors had troubled him much,
When Willie broke in, twixt a lisp and a squirm,
And plead for the price of a suit.
The old man turned red, white and blue, each in turn,