I brought him pens and ink and things and stood

Around to be as useful as I could

And let him see I thought that he was grand.

I’d like to bump my head against a wall,

Because he ain’t a pugilist at all.

I’ll bet he never even seen a ring;

He’s just an author that is writin’ books:

That shows that you can never tell a thing

About how great a man is by his looks.

XIV.