I’m thought a vile impostor by the Baby in the Train!
He knows that I am longing to make faces on the sly,
How spitefully I’d pinch him if no guardians were nigh!
He clutches at my watch-chain, he smiles upon my suit,
He tries to eat my eye-glass, he jumps upon my boot;
He takes away my walking-stick, he crumples up my Punch;
He burrows deep in paper-bags in foraging for lunch;
And cups of milk at stations, too, how eagerly he’ll drain,
With sighs of satisfaction, will the Baby in the train!
O bold Directors, build a car to take such household pets!