“Go head,” said Tom, “but please wave your hand when you come to a rhyme so we’ll know it.”
“Subside, brute! Listen:
“‘Yell like thunder! Cheer on cheer!
Kill the enemy quite dead!
Punch his nose and bite his ear,
Kick him on his little head!
We will give old Broadwood fits,
Frighten her out of her wits!
We will chew her all to bits,
Fighting for old Yardley!’”
“Now, that’s something like, isn’t it? Has go and ginger to it, what?”
“Wonderful!” laughed Dan. “Such pretty thoughts!”
“Just full of quaint and cheerful sentiments!” said Tom. “Sounds like an automobile accident.”
“We’ll have that for the third verse,” said Alf, grinning. “But I must have credit for it. ‘First two verses by Dan Vinton; last verse by Alf Loring; all rights reserved.’”
“‘Copyrighted in New Jersey and all foreign countries,’” added Dan. “Why don’t you send that to the Scholiast, Alf. It’s better than most of the poetry they print.”
“Well, I think myself,” responded Alf modestly, “that it has more feeling and delicacy. Say, where’s Little Geraldine to-night?”