"Well, I'm a bit puzzled," says she, "he has smashed the whole lot to atoms."
"The very thing," says Joe. "We'll make him a furniture mover."
That didn't suit Mrs. Dempsey though, and she said they ought to have the boy a musician.
"All right," says Joe, "we'll let him learn the clarionette."
"Why, Joe!" says his wife. "Whoever heard of such a thing. I say, let him learn to play the violin. Think what an unhandy thing a clarionette is to carry."
"That's right, my dear," says Joe, "but think what a darn handy thing it is in case of a scrap."
Now I'll try to amuse you by singing my latest dead march, entitled "The Moth and the Flame; or, My Kingdom For a Fire."
They howl of the creature who uses the hoe,
Of the farmer behind the plow;
They warble a song to the horny palm,
And they garland the sunburned brow.