A line-o'-verse or two Part 10

False prophet! I tinkered a minute or two And again we were off like "a bolt from the blue."

We ate up the hills at a forty-mile clip, And skidded the turns like the snap of a whip, Till we dashed into Aix and were pinched by a cop For failing to slow when commanded to stop.

"Now, wouldn't that frost you!" said Joris, but we When we told the glad tidings were instantly free.

The Mayor himself paid the ten dollars' fine, And blew us to dinner with six kinds of wine, Which (the burgesses voted, by common consent) Was no more than their due that brought good news from Ghent.

THE DINOSAUR

Behold the mighty Dinosaur, Famous in prehistoric lore, Not only for his weight and strength But for his intellectual length.

You will observe by these remains The creature had two sets of brains-- One in his head (the usual place), The other at his spinal base.

Thus he could reason _a priori_ As well as _a posteriori_.

No problem bothered him a bit; He made both head and tail of it.

So wise he was, so wise and solemn, Each thought filled just a spinal column.

If one brain found the pressure strong It pa.s.sed a few ideas along; If something slipped his forward mind 'Twas rescued by the one behind; And if in error he was caught He had a saving afterthought.

As he thought twice before he spoke He had no judgments to revoke; For he could think, without congestion, Upon both sides of every question.

Oh, gaze upon this model beast, Defunct ten million years at least.

A BALLADE OF CAP AND BELLS

When as a dewdrop joy enspheres This pleasant planet, arched with blue, When every prospect charms and cheers, And all the world is fair to view-- Who does not envy (have not you?) That mortal, by Thalia kissed, Who plies, in plumes of c.o.c.katoo, The blithesome trade of humorist?

But when the wind of fortune veers, And blue-white skies turn leaden hue, When every pleasant prospect blears And all the weary world's askew-- Who then would envy (if he knew) Jack Point the jester, glum and trist; Or ply, tho' first of all the crew, The dismal trade of humorist?

Ah, jocund trifles writ in tears, And merry stanzas steeped in rue!

When all the world in drab appears The fool must still in motley woo.

Tho' bitter be the cud he chew, Still must he grind his foolish grist; Still must he ply, the long day through, The tragic trade of humorist!

_L'Envoi_

Lady of Tears, what pains perdue The heart and soul of him may twist Who doth in cap and bells pursue The glad sad trade of humorist!

GENTLE DOCTOR BROWN

It was a gentle sawbones and his name was Doctor Brown.

His auto was the terror of a small suburban town.

His practice, quite amazing for so trivial a place, Consisted of the victims of his homicidal pace.

So constant was his practice and so high his motor's gear That at knocking down pedestrians he never had a peer; But it must, in simple justice, be as truly written down That no man could be more thoughtful than gentle Doctor Brown.

Whatever was the errand on which Doctor Brown was bent He'd stop to patch a victim up and never charged a cent.

He'd always pause, whoever 'twas he happened to run down: A humane and a thoughtful man was gentle Doctor Brown.

"How fortunate," he would observe, "how fortunate 'twas I That knocked you galley-west and heard your wild and wailing cry.

There _are_ some heartless wretches who would leave you here alone, Without a sympathetic ear to catch your dying moan.

"Such callousness," said Doctor Brown, "I cannot comprehend; To fathom such indifference I simply don't pretend.

One ought to do his duty, and I never am remiss.

A simple word of thanks is all I ask. Here, swallow this!"

Then, reaching in the tonneau, he'd unpack his little kit, And perform an operation that was workmanlike and fit.

"You may survive," said Doctor Brown; "it's happened once or twice.

If not, you've had the benefit of competent advice."

Oh, if all our motormaniacs were equally humane, How little bitterness there'd be, or reason to complain!

How different our point of view if we were ridden down By lunatics as thoughtful as gentle Doctor Brown!

IN THE GALLERY

Weirder than the pictures Are the folks who come With their owlish strictures-- Telling why they're b.u.m.

Of all lines of babble This one has the call: Picture gallery gabble Is the best of all.

Literary fluffle Never, never cloys; Much has Mrs. Guffle Added to my joys.

For that chitter-chatter I delight to fall.

But the picture patter Is the best of all.

With the music highbrows I delight to chat, Elevating my brows Over this and that.

Music t.i.ttle-tattle Never fails to thrall.

But the picture prattle Is the best of all.

Sociologic rub-dub I delight to hear; Philosophic flub-dub t.i.tillates my ear.

Lovelier yet the spiffle In the picture hall; For the picture piffle Is the best of all.

Weirder than the pictures Are the folks who stand Pa.s.sing owlish strictures, Catalogue in hand.

Hear the bunk they babble Under every wall.

Yes. The gallery gabble Is the best of all.

ALWAYS