Jones. "Then, for goodness' sake, send me Somebody who does!"
'ARRY ON DERBY DAY.
Dear Charlie,—Are you going down? What a pooty blarmed world this 'as got,
With its Chants, and its Anti-Sport Leagues, Local Hoption, and other dashed rot.
Wot is Libberty comin' to, Charlie? 'Ere's 'Arry leg-lagged to his stool,
Because his new Gaffer's a Hawkeite, as means a old-fossilised fool.
The young 'un whose crib I succeeded to skinned the old bloke's petty cash
In backing of wrong 'uns last year, as of course was most reckless and rash.
But wy should I suffer along of it? Wy must he drop upon me