I’ve bacilli for ten volumes for a dollar, in a bag—
Not a single germ among ’em that’s been ever known to drag.
Not a single germ among ’em, if you see they’re planted right,
But will grow into a novel that they’ll say is out of sight.
I have motifs by the thousand, motifs sad and motifs gay.
You can buy ’em by the dozen, or I’ll serve ’em every day:
I will serve ’em in the morning, as the milkman serves his wares;
I will serve ’em by the postman, or I’ll leave ’em on your stairs.
When you get down to your table with your head a vacuum,
You can say unto your helpmeet, “Has that quart of ideas come