I swamped in carnal New Iowa.”
“Poetry!” gasped Paul Bunyan. “Thunderation! Holy mackinaw!”
But the loggers did not hear him, and Shanty Boy, the great bunkhouse bard, now made himself heard above the din.
“Oho! I am a bully boy,
I come from Thunder Bay
At Pokemouche and Sault au Cochon
I got the right o’ way.”
“That’s more truth than poetry,” murmured Paul Bunyan, somewhat mollified. He waited to hear more of this piece which sounded like a bunkhouse ballad; but now Bab Babbitson, who had heretofore been looked upon as a useless fussbudget around the camp, began to read his poem. He had the loudest voice of anyone among the common men, and the other loggers stopped their own reading to listen to him.
He bellowed:
“Here is the land of opportunity.