He strutted up and down, inflating his chest.
"Have you framed up any dope lately?" asked the Prodigal.
"Why, yes; only this morning, while I was eating my beans and bacon, I dashed off a few lines. I always write best when I'm eating. Want to hear them?"
He drew from his pocket an old envelope.
"They were written to the order of Stillwater Willie. He wants to present them to one of the Labelle Sisters. You know—that fat lymphatic blonde, Birdie Labelle. It is short and sweet. He wants to have it engraved on a gold-backed hand-mirror he's giving her.
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"I see within my true love's eyes The wide blue spaces of the skies; I see within my true love's face The rose and lily vie in grace; I hear within my true love's voice The songsters of the Spring rejoice. Oh, why need I seek Nature's charms— I hold my true love in my arms. |
"How'll that hit her? There's such a lot of natural beauty about Birdie."
"Do you get much work?" I asked.
"No, it's dull. Poetry's rather a drug on the market up here. It's just a side-line. For a living I clean shoes at the 'Elight' Barbershop—I, who have lingered on the sunny slopes of Parnassus, and quenched my soul-thirst at the Heliconian spring—gents' tans a specialty."
"Did you ever publish a book?" I asked.