XXI
Next week the wedding-bells won't do a thing,
For I'll be there, I guess, to fill the set,
And Pansy's Ma, she won't be late, you bet,
To see the Reverend Mr. pull the string.
Me for a spike-tailed scabbard and a ring,
A shell-back shirt, forsooth a peacherette.
I'll be the daintiest bridegroom ever yet;
Nothing to do but take the count, then—bing!
Love in a cottage run on union pay—
Can Teddy Roosevelt do a sum like that?
Two can eat cheap as one, perhaps, but say,
You've got to beat a quarter pretty flat
To cork three squares, make Little Two Shoes snug
And keep the Wolf from chewing up the rug.
XXII
Methinks I'm tagged to join the Worry Club,
To chase the fleeting rhino through the gloom,
To bag the boodle, trap the wild mazume
And scratch for corn when Pansy hollers "Grub!"
They say I'll turn as sickly as a chub
When on the First, with dull and deadly boom,
The Rent comes round and walks into the room,
Remarking, "Peel or else file out, you scrub!"
But when your arms are full of girl and fluff
You hide your nerve behind a yard of grin;
You'd spit into a wild cat's face or bluff
A flock of dragons with a safety pin.
Life's a slow skate, but Love's the dopey gum
That puts a brewery horse in racing trim.
EPILOGUE
Kind reader, when you 'phone don't ask for me
Enquiring how a Flossie should be won—
There isn't any Rule Book, are you on?
And Queenie can't be coaxed by recipee.
Some girls like hard-luck music, minor key,
Some like the Gas-car Gussie act, hot ton,
Others are simply fierce for Jolly John
Who loves to make a noise like repartee.
None but the Nerve, say I, deserves the Fair,
And stony hearts can't stand up long to chin.
If Willie-on-the-doormat lingers there
The chances are he'll be Invited In.
Up against Love the Candy Kid is nix;
The Porous Plaster wins because it sticks