The Wit and Humor of America, Volume VI

"The show-case is broked, too," said Johnny-Ivan in a woeful, small voice.

"But it was cracked before," interjected Peggy.

Winslow looked at her with a little twist. "That's a comfort," said he, "and you have horse sense, my little Southerner. I guess you didn't either of you mean any harm—"

"Indeed, no, sah, and Johnny was just as good; never touched a thing—"

"But you see your intentions didn't protect you. Distrust good intentions, my dears; look out for the possible consequences. However, I think there is one person to blame you haven't mentioned, and that is one Josiah C. Winslow, who let two such giddy young persons explore by themselves. Contributory negligence is proved; and said Winslow will pay the bill and not kick."

So saying, he took Peggy's warm, chubby little fingers in one of his big white hands and Johnny-Ivan's cold little palm in the other, and nodded a farewell to Emma.

THE BALLAD OF GRIZZLY GULCH[1 - From "At the Sign of the Dollar," by Wallace Irwin. Copyright, 1905, by Fox, Duffield & Co.]

BY WALLACE IRWIN

The rocks are rough, the trail is tough,
The forest lies before,
As madly, madly to the hunt
Rides good King Theodore
With woodsmen, plainsmen, journalists
And kodaks thirty-four.

The bob-cats howl, the panthers growl,
"He sure is after us!"
As by his side lopes Bill, the Guide,
A wicked-looking cuss—
"Chee-chee!" the little birds exclaim,
"Ain't Teddy stren-oo-uss!"

Though dour the climb with slip and slime,
King Ted he doesn't care,
Till, cracking peanuts on a rock,
Behold, a Grizzly Bear!
King Theodore he shows his teeth,
But he never turns a hair.

"Come hither, Court Photographer,"
The genial monarch saith,
"Be quick to snap your picture-trap
As I do yon Bear to death."
"Dee-lighted!" cries the smiling Bear,
As he waits and holds his breath.

Then speaks the Court Biographer,
And a handy guy is he,
"First let me wind my biograph,
That the deed recorded be."
"A square deal!" saith the patient Bear,
With ready repartee.

And now doth mighty Theodore
For slaughter raise his gun;
A flash, a bang, an ursine roar—
The dready deed is done!
And now the kodaks thirty-four
In chorus click as one.

The big brown bruin stricken falls
And in his juices lies;
His blood is spent, yet deep content
Beams from his limpid eyes.
"Congratulations, dear old pal!"
He murmurs as he dies.

From Cripple Creek and Soda Springs,
Gun Gulch and Gunnison,
A-foot, a-sock, the people flock
To see that deed of gun;
And parents bring huge families
To show what they have done.

In the damp corse stands Theodore
And takes a hand of each,
As loud and long the happy throng
Cries, "Speech!" again and "Speech!"
Which pleaseth well King Theodore,
Whose practice is to preach.

"Good friends," he says, "lead outdoor lives
And Fame you yet may see—
Just look at Lincoln, Washington,
And great Napoleon B.;
And after that take off your hats
And you may look at me!"

But as he speaks, a Messenger
Cries, "Sire, a telegraft!"
The king up takes the wireless screed
Which he opens fore and aft,
And reads: "The Venezuelan stew
Is boiling over. TAFT."

Then straight the good King Theodore
In anger drops his gun
And turns his flashing spectacles
Toward high-domed Washington.
"O tush!" he saith beneath his breath,
"A man can't have no fun!"