By common consent the Idiot read the following:
“Idiot, zany, brain of hare,
Dolt and noodle past compare,
Buncombe, bosh, and verbal slosh,
Mind of nothing, full of josh,
Madman, donkey, dizzard-pate,
U. S. Zero Syndicate,
Dull, depressing, lack of wit,
Incarnation of the nit.
Minus, numskull, drivelling baby,
Greenhorn, dunce, and dotard Gaby;
All the queer and loony chorus
Found in old Roget’s Thesaurus,
Flat and crazy through and through,
That, O Idiot—that is you.
Let me tell you, sir, in fine,
I won’t be your Valentine.
“What do you think of that?” asked the Idiot, when he had finished. “Wouldn’t that jar you?”
“I think it’s perfectly horrid,” said Mrs. Pedagog. “Mary, pass the pancakes to the Idiot. Mr. Idiot, let me hand you a full cup of coffee. John, hand the Idiot the syrup. Why, how a thing like that should be allowed to go through the mails passes me!”
And the others all agreed that the landlady’s indignation was justified, because they were fond of the Idiot in spite of his faults. They would not see him abused, at any rate.
“Say, old man,” said the Poet, later, “I really thought you sent those other valentines until you read yours.”
“I thought you would,” said the Idiot. “That’s the reason why I worked up that awful one on myself. That relieves me of all suspicion.”