A blank sometimes, just so’s to make her fret
When she would count the dimun’s I’d display.
And mebby when I stood there near her, then,
And had broad shoulders, and was six feet high,
Her lips would tremble and she’d give a sigh
And nibble at her pencil or her pen,
And we would both be feelin’ sad, and when
She seen I loved her she’d begin to cry
Because she hadn’t waited, and then I—
Oh, rats! There’s Morton yellin’ “Front” agen.