AN APPRECIATIVE AUDIENCE

My son, I wish that it were half
As easy to extract a laugh
From grown-ups as from thee.
Then I'd go on the stage, my boy,
While Richard Carle and Eddie Foy
Burned up with jealousy.
I wouldn't have to rack my brain
Or lie awake all night in vain
Pursuit of brand new jokes;
Nor fear my lines were heard with groans
Of pain and sympathetic moans
From sympathetic folks.
I'd merely have to make a face,
Just twist a feature out of place,
And be the soul of wit;
Or bark, and then pretend to bite,
And, from the screams of wild delight,
Be sure I'd made a hit.


DISCIPLINE


He couldn't have a doughnut, and it made him very mad;
He undertook to get revenge by screaming at his dad.
"Cut out that noise!" I ordered, and he gave another roar,
And so I put him in "the room" and shut and locked the door.
I left him in his prison cell two minutes, just about,
And, penitent, he smiled at me when I did let him out.
But when he got another look at the forbidden fruit
He gave a yell that they could hear in Jacksonville or Butte.
"Cut out that noise!" I barked again. "Cut out that foghorn stuff!
Perhaps I didn't leave you in your prison long enough.
"You want your dad to keep you jailed all afternoon, I guess."
He smiled at me and answered his equivalent for "yes."


INEXPENSIVE GUESTS


I wonder how 'twould make you feel,
My fellow food providers,
To have as guests at ev'ry meal
Three—count 'em, three—outsiders.
Well, that's the case with me, but still
I don't complain or holler,
For, strange to say, the groc'ry bill
Has not gone up a dollar.
These guests of ours, to make it brief,
Can't really chew or swallow;
They're merely dolls, called Indian Chief,
And Funny Man, and Rollo.

HIS SENSE OF HUMOR

Perhaps in some respects it's true
That you resemble dad;
To be informed I look like you
Would never make me mad.
But one thing I am sure of, son,
You have a different line
Of humor, your idea of fun
Is not a bit like mine.
You drop my slippers in the sink
And leave them there to soak.
That's very laughable, you think
But I can't see the joke
You take my hat outdoors with you
And fill it full of earth;
You seem to think that's witty, too,
But I'm not moved to mirth.
You open up the chicken-yard;
Its inmates run a mile;
You giggle, but I find it hard
To force one-half a smile.
No, kid, I fear your funny stuff,
Though funny it may be,
Is not quite delicate enough
To make a hit with me.

SPEECH ECONOMY

Since he began to talk and sing,
I've learned one interesting thing—
The value of a verb is small;
In fact, it has no worth at all.
Why waste the breath required to say,
"While toddling through the park today,
I saw a bird up in a tree,"
When "Twee, pahk, birt," does splendidly?
Why should one say, "Please pass the bread,"
When "Ba-ba me" is easier said?
And why "I'm starved. Have supper quick,"
When "LUNCH!" yelled loudly, does the trick?
Why "I've been riding on a train,"
When "By-by, Choo-choo" makes it plain?
"Let words be few," the poet saith,
So leave out words and save your breath.