"There's a gentleman waiting to tell you about
A novel of his, which, without any doubt
(So he says), will make critics with happiness shout."
"Oh, tell him I'm ill or rheumatic—or dead."
"There's also a lady who's just come away
From Russia; she says that the Reds are at bay,
And she's willing to write it at so much a day."
"I've just left for Portugal, China and Mars."
"And then there's a bookseller—looks like a gink—
From somewhere out West; Indiana, I think.