His companion touched his arm and gave him a warning look, and forthwith another of these mechanisms screamed deafeningly and gave tongue in a shrill voice. “Yahaha! Yahah, Yap! Hear a live paper yelp! Live paper. Yaha! Shocking outrage in Paris. Yahahah! The Parisians exasperated by the black police to the pitch of assassination. Dreadful reprisals. Savage times come again. Blood! Blood! Yahah!” The nearer Babble Machine hooted stupendously, “Galloop, Galloop,” drowned the end of the sentence, and proceeded in a rather flatter note than before with novel comments on the horrors of disorder. “Law and order must be maintained,” said the nearer Babble Machine....
The Ballad of Kiplingson
By Robert Buchanan
(An English poet and journalist, 1841-1901, who through his lifetime fought valiantly against militarism and imperialism. See pages [367], [412], [687])
There came a knock at the Heavenly Gate, where the good St. Peter sat,—
“Hi, open the door, you fellah there, to a British rat-tat-tat!”
The Saint sat up in his chair, rubbed eyes, and prick’d his holy ears,
“Who’s there?” he muttered, “a single man, or a regiment of Grenadiers?”
“A single man,” the voice replied, “but one of prodigious size,