Up Learning’s ladder, round by round We’ve climbed with many a fall; But, through the toil, companionship Has made amends for all. Now from our giddy heights we glance, With calm thoughts and serene, ...

Goodbye, everybody; goodbye, Jimmy Cal; Goodbye, William Gleason; goodbye, Doc, old pal; Sully, Matty, Harry, and Morrie, goodbye, goodbye. Sure hope you all will feel sorry the same as I. Goodbye, go...

Goodbye, everybody; goodbye, Jimmy Cal; Goodbye, William Gleason; goodbye, Doc, old pal; Sully, Matty, Harry, and Morrie, goodbye, goodbye. Sure hope you all will feel sorry the same as I. Goodbye, go...

Half a C, half a C, Half a C, sundered, Cut from the other half, Half a big hundred. Forward the Cub Brigade! “Charge at the umps!” they said, But Zim in silence stood. O you big hundred! Past the Gre...

A friend of mine, who reads the Wake (a friend he sure must be) Had me to dine a week ago last Sunday, And after we had dined awhile, the friend inquired of me: “Why is the Wake so very short on Monda...

The C or not the C, that is the question⁠— Whether ’tis nobler for the dough to suffer Mistakes and errors of outrageous umpires, Or to cut loose against a band of robbers, And, by protesting, lose it...

Their game is Famous For its Witless Blunders; Those runless, Wonless, Catchless, Matchless, Stopless, Copless, Useless, Mooseless, Spitless, Hitless Wonders...

When you’ve penned an especially bright bit of verse, It’s good for one day in the year; When you’ve made a neat hit or an epigram terse, In only one sheet ’twill appear. No matter how bright be the s...

Some people think it is a shame That Barbara is not your name. Well, let them worry if they will; Between us two, I’m glad you’re Phil. If you were Barbara, I know You’d cost your dad a lot more dough...

I wonder if there’s anything That I, tonight, can rhyme about. It’s ’most too late to write of spring And⁠—Wait a bit; the lights are out. Now naught to do but watch the flash Of lightning, listen to ...

O shivering creatures Down there in the bleachers, And fans in the cold concrete stand, You’ve willfully chosen To come and get frozen, While I must be here or get canned. You leave when you care to, ...

Players who jump for the dough, Bandits and crooks, ev’ry one. Baseball’s a pleasure, you know. Players should play for the fun. Magnates don’t care for the mon’. They can’t be tempted with gold. They...

Sound triumphal music! Give three rousing cheers! Shout the joyful tidings In everybody’s ears! Write it on the fences In white and purple chalk! Sing it from the housetop; Brother Jim can talk! Sente...

Sometimes I write my stuff at home And bring it down with me. When that’s the case, the stuff is good As stuff of mine could be. At other times I have to come Before it’s off my mind, And try to do it...

I love you, New Arrival; I love you, No. 3. That’s why I won’t allow them To name you after me. Make you the butt of wheezes Such as I’m subjected to; No, kid, I won’t allow them To wish my name on yo...

I have no objection to washing your face And putting your playthings back in their place, And fixing your fruit and potatoes and bread And reading you stories when you are in bed. It’s not a bad job, ...

If I grow old before my day, If, in a night, my hair turns gray, ’Twill be from answering when you say “What for?” If I have softening of the brain, If I’m adjudged unsound, insane, ’Twill be from try...

Madge has moved back to the city, With her year and a half of good cheer. The neighborhood sighs, the neighborhood cries; The neighborhood’s dismal and drear. Madge has moved back to the city, And lef...

He’s a dear little thing, is No. 3, Dear to his mother and dear to me, While his older brother’s idea of bliss Is to give him a gentle hug and kiss. But the one ambition of Brother Jim Appears to be t...

I’ve got to leave my little ones And journey through far eastern lands. I’ve got to leave my three small sons And trust their care to other hands. Boys, will you miss me when I go? Will you be wretche...

A rhyming dictionary is A handy little thing. My uncle, though, got tired of his And passed it on to Ring. So now, when hard up for a rhyme And when I need one quick, I save a lot of precious time By ...

My eyes are very misty As I pen these lines to Christy; O, my heart is full of heaviness today. May the flowers ne’er wither, Matty, On your grave at Cincinnati Which you’ve chosen for your final fade...

This is another Saturday And many different teams will play. It is my duty to predict Which teams will win and which get licked; And also for to prophesy One single, solitary tie. It looks to me as if...

Amelia Galli-Curci, I presume, is justly proud Of the voice that wins the plaudits of Chicago’s opera crowd; The kaiser, very likely, is as chesty as can be When he thinks of those courageous Teuts wh...

To a Rewrite Man: Reporters furnish you with plot, With facts, with dates, with names, and if you Turn out good stuff sometimes⁠—Why not? You lucky stiff, you! To a Dramatic Critic: You write stuff on...

Some folks undoubtedly will speak Of William Veeck as William Veeck, But those who wish to be correc’ Will speak of him as William Veeck....

Dear Parents:⁠—Don’t imagine, please, It’s in a boastful spirit I fashion verses such as these; That’s not the truth or near it. A hundred or a thousand, yes, A million kids there may be Who aren’t on...

Dear Parents:⁠—Don’t imagine, please, It’s in a boastful spirit I fashion verses such as these; That’s not the truth or near it. A hundred or a thousand, yes, A million kids there may be Who aren’t on...

Dollar Bill, that I’ve held so tight Ever since payday, a week ago, Shall I purchase with you tonight A pair of seats at the vaudeville show? (Hark! A voice from the easy chair: “Look at his shoes! We...

There’s been a young stranger at our house, A baby whom nobody knew; Who hated his brother, his father, his mother, And made them aware of it, too. He stayed with us nearly a fortnight And carried a g...

My son, I wish that it were half As easy to extract a laugh From grown-ups as from thee. Then I’d go on the stage, my boy, While Richard Carle and Eddie Foy Burned up with jealousy. I wouldn’t have to...

He couldn’t have a doughnut, and it made him very mad; He undertook to get revenge by screaming at his dad. “Cut out that noise!” I ordered, and he gave another roar, And so I put him in “the room” an...

I wonder how ’twould make you feel, My fellow food providers, To have as guests at ev’ry meal Three⁠—count ’em, three⁠—outsiders. Well, that’s the case with me, but still I don’t complain or holler, F...

Perhaps in some respects it’s true That you resemble dad; To be informed I look like you Would never make me mad. But one thing I am sure of, son, You have a different line Of humor, your idea of fun ...

Since he began to talk and sing, I’ve learned one interesting thing⁠— The value of a verb is small; In fact, it has no worth at all. Why waste the breath required to say, “While toddling through the p...

Spring, you are welcome, for you are the friend of Fathers of all little girlies and chaps. Spring, you are welcome, for you mean the end of Bundling them up in their cold-weather wraps. Breathes ther...

I can’t understand why you pass up the toys That Santa considered just right for small boys; I can’t understand why you turn up your nose At dogs, hobbyhorses, and treasures like those, And play a who...

If it’s fun to take books from the bookcase, If you really believe it’s worth while To carry them out to the kitchen And build them all up in a pile, Why isn’t it just as agreeable then To carry them ...

I’ve orders to waken you from your nap, And orders are orders, my little chap. But I hate to do it, because it seems A shame to break in on your blissful dreams. I’ve sat and watched you a long, long ...

When I see his wonderful choo-choo trains, Which he daily builds with infinite pains, Whose cars are a crazy and curious lot⁠— A doll, a picture, a pepper pot, A hat, a pillow, a horse, a book, A pote...

Why do you love your Cousin Paull? For his sweet face, his smile, and all The little tricks that charm us so? You’re not quite old enough to know How cute he is; to realize How clever for a child his ...

My baby has a garden, “Planted” four days ago, And nearly half his waking hours He spends among his precious flowers With sprinkling can and hoe. My baby has a garden, And Oh, how proud he is When, yi...

When I mixed with the shoppers and fought in vain To get what I sought, in the Christmas rush; When they stood on my toes in the crowded train, Or dented my ribs in the sidewalk crush, I dropped my ma...

He was weary of all of his usual joys; His books and his blocks made him tired, And so did his games and mechanical toys, And the songs he had always admired; So I told him a story, a story so new It ...

Prepare for noise, you quiet walls! You floors, get set for heavy falls! Frail dishes, hide away! Get ready for some scratches, stairs! Clean table linen, say your prayers! The kid comes home today! F...

One thing that’s yours, my little child Your poor old dad is simply wild To own. It’s not a book or toy; It’s your imagination, boy. If I possessed it, what a time I’d have, nor need to spend a dime! ...

Besides my little son’s imagination, Another thing he has appeals to me And agitates my envious admiration⁠— It’s his accommodating memory. An instant after some unlucky stumble Has floored him and in...

A sleuth like Pinkerton or Burns Is told that there has been a crime. He runs down clues and leads, and learns Who did the deed, in course of time. It’s just the other way with me: The first thing I a...

Who is Sylvia? What is she That early every morning You desert your family And rush to see her, scorning Your once cherished ma and me? Are her playthings such a treat? I will steal ’em from her; Bett...

“Myself!” It means that you don’t care To have me lift you in your chair; That if I do, you’ll rage and tear. “Myself!” It means you don’t require Assistance from your willing sire In eating; ’twill b...

What is the welcoming word I hear When I reach home at the close of day? “Glad you are with us, daddy, dear?” Something I’d like to hear you say? No, it is this, invariably: “Daddy, what have you got ...

“I guess I’ll help you, daddy.” And daddy can’t say “No;” For if he did, ’twould wound you, kid, And cause the tears to flow. “I guess I’ll help you, daddy.” And daddy says: “All right,” And tries to ...

“I’m going to the office.” So says my youngster, and Gets on the train to take him there (The train’s the sofa or a chair, Whichever’s near at hand.) “Now I am to the office. I’m working now,” says he...

That may not be the proper way To spell their name; I cannot say. I’ve never seen ’em written out: I’ve only heard ’em talked about. They’re coming here tonight to dine, So says that little son of min...

You could be president as well as not, Since all you’d have to do is think you were, With that imagination that you’ve got; Or multimillionaire if you prefer, Or you could be some famous football star...

Up to the sky the birdman flew And looped some loops that were bold and new. The people marvelled at nerve so great And gasped or cheered as he tempted fate, More daring each day than the day before, ...

I wonder what your thought will be And what you’ll say and do, sir, When you come home again and see What Daddy’s got for you, sir. I wonder if you’ll like it, boy, Or turn away disgusted (You’ve ofte...

I claim that it speaks pretty well for A person who runs a hotel, for Each guest, on the day Of departure, to say: “He’s a guy that I’d go clear to hell for.” Bum roads don’t please me worth a cent, B...

I claim that it speaks pretty well for A person who runs a hotel, for Each guest, on the day Of departure, to say: “He’s a guy that I’d go clear to hell for.”...

Bum roads don’t please me worth a cent, But they make quite a hit with this gent. Every jar, every bump, Every hollow or hump Means a future for Portland Cement....

On the walls of his den may be scanned More horns than in John Sousa’s band, And even the sofie’s All covered with trophies, So when you go in there, you stand....

He was wounded, you know, at the Marne, And I asked him to spin me the yarn, “It might have been worse But for that little nurse.” He said, and turned red as a barn....

It’s nice to have Bion around; His words of advice are so sound. During war, they declare, He was up in the air, But now he is back on the ground....

It isn’t my custom to speak Disparagingly of a geek, But I have lost faith in The vigor of Nathan⁠— He ain’t built a playhouse this week....

Ball is this gentleman’s name And ball is this gentleman’s game. His ball club is down In another man’s town But I’m pulling for him just the same...

When the coal pile gets dang’rously slim, I send a rush order to Jim, Who, bless his old soul, Soaks me no more for coal Than if I were a stranger to him....

I’m grateful to you, Mr. Bateman, For being a prominent freightman. If the rest of this mob Had rhymed with their job, I’d have worked at much faster a rate, man....

Dick laughs till his bosom is sore, When he reads of the Cheese-Cutters’ roar For a seven-hour day. “Keeps me hustling,” he’ll say, “To get through in a scant twenty-four.”...

The onlookers haven’t a real Excuse for the terror they feel, For this guy’s a peach At tempering speech As well as at tempering steel....

My Pal Rockefeller told me That the Standard Oil Com’ny would be In the down and out class If ’twere not for the gas that it sells to this other John D....

When she entered, it didn’t occur To this dame that she needed a fur. But there’s little doubt That when she walks out, He’ll see that the fur is on her....

In peace times his boat is a yacht, But during the war, it was not. If John hadn’t came Across with the same, The Kaiser might still speak to Gott....

He could ride on a pass from the boss And save time without coming across With whatever’s the fare, But he’d miss the fresh air, And there’s always a seat on a hoss....

In spite of the rumors, I doubt That Canada still has some trout, Anyway, they’re much fewer, And old F. A. Brewer Admits he’s fished most of them out....

He’s at home in a sieve or a tub, A launch, or a yacht, or a sub, And furthermore he’s The whole doggone cheese Of St. Louis’s big Liederkranz club....

Some guys⁠—we’ve all met quite a few⁠— Can’t seem to go straight or aim true. “Brock” doesn’t play their way; He sticks to the Fair way In golf and in business, too....

This lawyer need not introduce The law and the facts⁠—what’s the use? He can win a big case As he won a big place In our hearts: Just being John Bruce....

I like you, Ed Brundage, that’s clear; Else your map wouldn’t loom up in here; But I like you less well Since you ruled they could sell Nothing stronger than half per cent beer....

He’ll make you a speech if you wish, Or tell you what legal posish You stand in, because He knows all the laws, Especially those about fish....

Gene Byfield plays polo quite well, And polo is rougher thanell, More dang’rous, they say, Than fighting your way To the desk at the Sherman Hotel....

Most housewives think this guy is charming And I do hate to spread the alarming Report that I’ve heard Concerning the bird: He’s Insane on Intensified Farming....

Most stars will acknowledge real quick That most other stars make ’em sick, But no rival star’ll Speak ill of Dick Carle, Which says a whole jawful for Dick....

He plays, when he’s through with his “toil,” Straight jackpots according to Hoyle, But even that game Must seem rather tame To one used to no limit Oil....

I hear they’ve appointed this guy Collector of Customs in Chi. I wish we could trust him To unearth the custom Of buying a drink when you’re dry....

He cannot see any good reason Why God made the winter to freeze in. If it were left out, He’d insist, this old scout, On an all-the-year-round baseball season....

He’s got us all coming his way; lights Our houses at night, and when daylight’s Supplanted the stars, We ride on his cars And swarm to root for his “Rail-lights.”...

Strong men seem to die pretty offin; The hardest of hard guys do soffin; Bus as for death’s sting, There ain’t no such thing If you carry insurance with Coffin....

I trust that Son Lou won’t be mad If I’m silent concerning his dad, But there’s not room to start On the good in his heart, And I don’t know of anything bad....

He thought that our city was short On hotels of the classier sort, So he put up a peach Called the Edgewater Beach And made Chi a summer resort....

The judge used to pack up his grip And hunt coons on the old Mississip’, Till one time a bee, Who shared the coon’s tree, Gave his honor a kiss on the lip....

Now, David, don’t vent all your spleen On the stick or the caddy. That’s mean. You can’t help but dub At a regular club With a Lincoln Park hat on your bean....

Has he sold insurance to you? Well, brother, he landed me, too. But I’ve figured how I Can get even: I’ll die Before there’s a premium due....

He’d have much more jack, I am sure, If he gave much less jack to the poor A disease of this sort May not cut life short, But I’m told there’s no permanent cure....

“Haw! Haw!” lauged the trout, “and Hee! Hee!” But he’s laughing too soon, seems to me, And I’ll bet him two flies That if Crandall just tries, He’ll catch every fish in that tree....

Tom sees that Chicago gets nearly A whole change of scenery yearly. If you can afford To pay for your board You’ll soon b’lieve in signs most sincerely....

He dresses the noble athlete From his conk to his beautiful feet, And unless Charley Dean Is plain to be seen, A meet is not really a meet....

Republicans, since he’s been boss, Have forgot how to spell the word “loss.” Seldom heard, seldom seen Is Charley Deneen, But he certainly puts it across....

When he dubs with his brassey, P. L. Merely utters a placid “Well! Well!” An unprofane “Bli me!” Is all for a stymie, But when it’s a slice he says, “&%$#.”...

De Voney appears to know Lots; His head’s full of Stories and Plots. He tells you three Stories (And basement)⁠—Before he’s Half through, you will sign on the dots....

You’d think ’twas this party’s ambition To sell you some Hoozis-Ignition, But when he talks stocks, Remember, old sox, That he’d a lot rather be fishin’!...

He can shoot with a cue or a gun, he Can catch mountain trout by the ton, he Can drive a mean race In the 2:07 pace, And furthermore, he can make money....

He teaches young salesmen to sell, An art that he seems to know well. I suppose he will try To teach them to buy⁠ ⁠… If we ever survive the dry spell....

It’s up to a newspaper man To knock all the packers he can, So what can I say About Robert J.? There’s nothing about him to pan....

I’m informed that he tells stories well, But the only one I’ve heard him tell Is the story about How his Indians lost out⁠— “But next year we’ll sure givemell!”...

I’m one of the number of ones Who’ll vote for him next time he runs And he’ll win by a length If he polls the full strength Of the seemingly endless young Dunnes....

He works, but he works with a smile, For his Overland’s earned its pile, But I’ll bet the cigars They’d have sold some more cars If they’d advertised once in a while....

Where thunders the mighty Shoshone; Where the glaciers sweep by with a groan, On the trail of the bear, In the porcupine’s lair, Al. Eastman comes into his own....

The Robins show up in the Spring, But if Charley were running the thing I b’lieve in a few years He’d make ’em start New Year’s And play till the Christmas bells ring....

We see him with shovel and pick, But he uses, as well, a big stick And with it as a threat, He’s hoping we’ll get Some decent roads pretty dam quick...

The Oil and Paint world is his sphere; Yet somehow this seems rather queer, For when you know him well It is easy to tell He’s a man without any veneer....

He was loaded for bear or for hare Or for moose or whatever was there, But I never guessed Till Victor got dressed That showshoes were really to wear....

His initials spell “Use” and I’ve heard Kansas City makes use of this bird. When the town wants to buy a New park, it’s Uriah Who slips the dear public the word....

They couldn’t have chosen a wiser Protector of Chi than this guy, sir. I saw Samuel play In a ball game one day, And I’ll say he’s some legal adviser....

In some things I’m very like Chick⁠— An iron’s my favorite stick; And when I have got Through making a shot, The guys playing with me look sick....

A banker, most people surmise, Has nothing to do but look wise. But if you ask Fletch He’ll offer, poor wretch, To trade jobs with a lot of you guys....

They praise the cantonments he built In the towns where our soldiers were drilt, But he’s modestasell Till you ask him to tell About the last moose that he kilt....

This, ladies and gents, is our chief. His speeches are pointed and brief, But he certainly slips The bandits and dips A mouthful of terror and grief....

When you have a few days to spare, Go up and see George Getz’s bear And the rest of his zoo; It will interest you. But the meals are the greatest things there....

We both like the Sox, him and me, Though in politics we don’t agree, But I’m bound to remark That he makes Rogers Park Pretty safe for Democarasee....

If I had a ball club in Chi Or Boston, Detroit, or N.Y., I’d say to this bird: “Please give me your word That you’ll manage my team till you die.”...

A picture of John? I’ve a strong Suspicion that something is wrong; In fact I will stake My life it’s a fake⁠— He never sat still so darn long....

He once carried shirts of all hues: Plain white ones and pink ones and blues; But now he asks all The salesmen who call: “Have you got any Reds we could use?”...

His idears and mine are the same In the great piscatorial game; If you sit still and wait, And a fish finds you bait, The fish is entirely to blame....

A dentist who play a cornet! And nobody’s poisoned him yet? No, they don’t even knock The musical doc⁠— He’s his patients’ and audience’s pet....

A story that everyone knows Or a song that’s as old as my clo’es When the average guy Tries to pull it, will die. But give it to Gene and it goes!...

“You need life insurance,” he’ll urge, And when you are just on the verge Of telling him “No,” Out come fiddle and bow And he changes your mind with a dirge....

You covet his office? Go to it. It’s a tough one, however you view it. The garbage guys say: “Give us our back pay!” And the council replies: “Let George do it!”...

Hotel men have plenty to do And some of them never get through But Johnny, I’ll state, Is seldom too late For his afternoon tee at Glen View....

Toledo would not be without Doc Harpster, a dandy old scout Who won reputation With one operation: Removing the bones from a trout....

He says if we’d all advertise By mail, we would get more replies. He’s acquired, they say, In this shrewd “Hawtin way,” A “stock” that’s a sight for sore eyes....

He could make better speed on a train Or a high-powered “aero-plane” But they tell me that his Dream of Paradise is To fly behind Alix again....

I don’t know what hobby is yours; Whether fishing or motoring tours, Or hunting out West Is what you like best, But this guy is wild about sewers....

Charles Herendeen⁠—Fiends call him Pop. When there’s a golf prohibition, he’ll stop. If they had the North Sea For a water hole, he Would smile and shoot over the top....

Most Yankees with names that were German Had reason to b’lieve Mr. Sherman, But even in war Everybody was for A real guy like old “Garry” Herrmann....

Of this party I beg to report That he is a regular sport. He’d give you his yacht Or whatever he’s got. (I’ll take two downstairs at the Cort.)...

Although he has had some career As contractor and eke engineer, I b’lieve he’s best known By the sportsmanship shown In the Mackinac race every year....

Pete Hoffman, who sure has a gay time, With never a hay time or play time, Desires to know why, If a guy has to die, He can’t pull it off in the daytime....

He’ll make you a stylish and cute, Good looking, and up-to-date suit, Or, if you prefer, He’ll make you, dear sir, A three-cushion shot that’s a beaut....

It’s your turn, E. W.⁠—Now, sir, I’ll ask you to stand up and bow, sir. You tell me you are Some fresh, water tar, So⁠—Your health in fresh water: Here’s Houser....

So long as a man is OK, He won’t run afoul of Maclay. You’re his friend if you’re right; If you’re not, why good night! You’ll notice I’m moving away....

When the Latin-Americans seek His advice, and his service bespeak, With pleasure they roar As they read on his door⁠— “Gone fishing. Be back in a week.”...

Next to selling large orders of meats, He thinks it’s the greatest of treats To go down and wade Through a damp Everglade And hunt for big game, like muskeets....

You haven’t no right to look cheesey When you can look good very easy Providing that you’ll Go to Michigan Boul. And purchase an outfit from Z. Z....

He’s boss of the golf club at Beverly, A job that weighs on him quite heverly. In the time that remains Mr. G. J. L. Janes Runs Hillman’s big store very cleverly...

Here’s Ban, sometimes known as B. B. Initials fit calling, you see. They say he’s a czar, But what if he are? His Russia looks prosp’rous to me....

Here’s Jonesey, whose time’s mostly spent In list’ning to guys who invent. Before he is through, He may go crazy, too, From mingling with guys which has went....

I’d wear the same satisfied smile If I, too, could say without guile: “Oh, yes, Campanini, Farrar and Houdini All visit me once in a while.”...

They say that he once lost a number Of millions, as well as some slumber, But he got it all back, Both slumber and jack, By nervy investments in lumber....

This gent’s in a praying position, But looking for trouble’s his mission. He can tell in the dark If the fault’s with the spark Which it’s not, if you use his ignition....

He may greet you with love in his eye, He may treat you much nicer than pie; For if he is your friend, He’s your friend to the end⁠— But your taxes remain just as high....

This picture shows one lucky chap With his favorite sports on his lap. They go out together In all kinds of weather And motor all over the map....

Hunched over the low handle bars, He was one of our early bike stars, And the speed bug remains: He is now selling planes And dealing in fast motor cars....

Most people who need it can owe it To Dave, if they swear they won’t blow it, And I’m sure you can trust His bank not to bust, For he won’t lend a dime to a poet....

A. Linick won’t have to rap twice When he’s ready to try Paradise, For St. Peter knows He will give ’em good shows And charge ’em a moderate price....

The Reds were to battle the Sox, And ’twas long after two by all clocks, But the umps said, “quit naggin’ us; We’ll wait till Ad Magnus Comes in and gets set in his box.”...

When he’s through with the arduous toil Of vending a gallon of oil, He hastens with glee To the nearest first tee And ploughs up an acre of soil....

With this picture on view, it requires No sleuth to decide he makes tires, And say, if you go out Expecting a blow-out, Take some other tires than Maguire’s....

He seems to have sports on the brain; On baseball and fights he’s insane. He once had a book; He gave it one look, Then turned to the sport page again....

This gent goes to bed now and then As early as 2 or 2:10 And if sleepy, why he Stays in bed until 3; Then it’s back to the steel mill again....

Behind yonder tree, see what hides! Why, there’s dear little deer on all sides. But Oscar plays hunches And brings his own lunches⁠— He don’t like the flavor of guides....

Chicago’s most popular batch, So far he has not met his match; But he isn’t immune And I’m thinking that soon Some lady will make a good catch....

No Parmelee busman or hoss Is ever disgruntled or cross Or crabby or scrappy. But who’d not be happy With Charley McCulloch for boss!...

Although genial Jimmy McGill Is a nephew of old Pittsburgh Phil, We don’t care two cookies Who swatteth the bookies, So long as his team swats the pill....

Oh, yes, it’s a dandy posish, But⁠—Well, there’s a spot up in Mich. Where you needn’t wear collars Nor always think dollars Nor argue with two-legged fish....

The clans have gone nearly insane Considering which of the twain Makes Scotland feel prouder⁠— The braw Harry Lauder, Or braw Colonel Angus McLean....

He does lots of reading, I hear, And he reads standing up, which is queer, Every once in a while, What he reads makes him smile, But sometimes it forces a tear....

If they’d level the bunkers and traps, If they’d shorten the course a few laps, Joe Michaels would utter Less oaths at his putter, And go ’round in a hundred⁠—perhaps....

He started by betting his stack On the Stone Brothers, Fire and Black. Now, casings or cases, He’s always got aces. No wonder he rakes in the jack!...

His bus’ness is photo engraving, But he’s never quite free from a craving To up and fare forth To the lakes of the North And see how the carps are behaving....

When Jake got too big for his job As chef, how us gourmands did sob! He could fool with a crow For ten minutes or so, And make you believe it a squab....

When it comes to investing your kale, This guy is as safe as the mail, But out on the links⁠— Well, the caddy, me thinks, Is looking goshawfully pale....

When John and the bank were a pair Of youngsters, John wanted the chair, The bank and John both Now have their full growth, And the chair⁠—well, you notice who’s there!...

If you wait in the Morrison foyer You’ll encounter my friend, Harry Moir; While he serves toothsome courses, His own tastes run to horses⁠— Excuse me. Goodbye! Au revoir!...

When you hear this cognomen at foist, You say, “I am dry and he’s Moist.” But his keys, let me tell yer, Won’t open no cellar, Though they do into melody boist....

In Charles there’s no feeling of guilt; ’Twas a bear that he meant should be kilt. And I cannot see why The farmer should cry Over milk unavoidably spilt....

When this party comes out to play, The pigeons thank God they’re but clay He loves to shoot traps, But I’d rather shoot craps, Though I always come out the same way....

“If I weren’t so busy,” says Waller, “I’d make a few golf slickers holler. But with food and with fires Sky high, one acquires Respect for our old friend the dollar.”...

The gent we see here has the Blues; Not the kind which the saxophones use, Though all Kansas City Moans “Oh, what a pity!” Whenever these Blues of his lose....

They tell me that old Frankie Navin Thinks next season’s pennant will wave in Ford City, but if It don’t, what’s the diff, So long as Ty Cobb keeps behavin’?...

It seems sort of kind of absurd For me to be versing this bird, Who, when he has time, Can write better rhyme Than any I’ve written or heard....

Says he: “I’ve installed in my bank A machine gun, a pill box, a tank. Do the dear petermen Call around now and then? No, they don’t to be perfectly frank.”...

Some days when the work’s a bit slack, “Old Nic” spends an hour looking back To the cowboyhood years When he could rope steers As now he can lasso the jack....

When the Chief joins the heavenly choir, The H.C. of L. will go higher, For surer than Fate They will double the rate For insuring your home against fire....

In Yellows I always get nervous And holler out, “Heaven preserve us!” I wonder how I Will feel when I try O’Gara’s new taxiplane service....

Well, here is a regular whale! And, Kid, he’s got bundles of kale. He don’t have to toil Nor drill for no oil, For he’s got a mountain of Shale....

He caught it hissilf, Johnny Owens; He tould me in could sober towens. I b’lave him, I do, But if it ain’t thrue, Sure I hope that he’ll choke on the bowens....

When you’re ready to take your degree, Plain B.A. or Double L.D., This Patterson chap Will supply gown and cap⁠— And he doubles all bids above three....

He recalls when the Loop was a thicket, When Bryan first ran on the ticket, And when drinks were still sold.⁠— Oh, yes, he is old, But what of Old Age? He can lick it!...

A doughboy, preserved by God’s mercy And the skill of a surgeon, said “Nursey, Will you tell me why This he-guy from Chi Travels round with a title like ‘Percy’?”...

When there’s nothing in sight he can print, He taketh a critical squint At some valuable oil, A landscape or goil, And farewell to the October rint!...

He tells me the time will come soon When we’ll fly to New York before noon. I’m thinking we might Start out early that night And see if it’s dry on the moon....

Just now you behold him at ease, But war days were nothing like these. You’ve all heard before That ships won the war, And who built the ships? Charley Piez....

The return of the doughboys from France Seemed to put lots of life in some Plants, But they withered again When Pat Moran’s men Ripped holes in Kid Gleason’s best Sox....

They say he spills language in court Of a most Ciceronian sort, But out at Old Ellum, He’s able to tell ’em The statutes in words that are short....

Says I to myself: “Of the host Of actors our country can boast, There’s many a hick Who can act like a stick And few who can act like a Post.”...

Friend Poth loves our national game, And it seems kind of sort of a shame That he lives in Philly Whose teams act so silly.⁠— Come West: You can spend just the same!...

When young Mr. Randle sets out In quest of the e-lusive trout, Each terrified fish Sobs “Oh, how I wish This bird were in bed with the gout!”...

Our gain is New Albany’s loss, But we’re glad that you moved here, old hoss, And Samuel’s still thankin’ you, Hoosier Bill Rankin⁠—you Sure put those war drives across!...

If his statements don’t seem to agree With my stubs, why the blame rests with me, And if I’m overdrawn, He camps on my lawn.⁠— Yet he calls it a Trust Company....

These fuel men are pitiable souls; They’re out playing thirty-six holes, While we fuss and fret Our heads off to get The money for next winter’s coals....

Frank Reilly’s a real estate man, And also a rabid Sox Fan, But he’d buy up left field If he thought it would yield Good returns in a building lot plan....

Meet County Commissioner Peter, The Forest Preserve is his creetur, And everyone knows he’s The author of posies Which make our sweet city much sweeter....

In the tank he’s a regular whizz, And all kinds of golf cups are his. I hope that when I Am as old as this guy, I’ll be just as young as he is....

George Cohan would simply expire And write songs for the heavenly choir If he received tidings That Harry J. Ridings Had made up his mind to retire....

He came to Toledo to see The Fourth of July massacree, And one evening, they say, He gave dollars away, But nobody notified me....

It seems kind of funny that all The real shows should hire the same hall, But everything good’s To appear at the Woods, Just take it from J. Rosenthal....

What fun, when the housekeeper lugs His sweeper across your soiled rugs, To see the big ruction (It’s caused by the suction) Among all the visiting bugs!...

In a broad Mississippi bayou, (With something to ward off the flu), This amiable gent Is more than content If he catches a dogfish or two....

What grouchy old hen wouldn’t lay fer As genial a boss as Pete Schaefer! Most show people coop Their chicks in the Loop, But Pete says the farm is much safer....

“Did I get any muskies,” he said, “In the land of the once noble Red? Well, that I won’t swear, But what do I care?⁠— I dug up a swell arrow head.”...

For me, an old neighbor of his, it Is not very neighborly, is it, To hope that some time Will pass before I’m Obliged to pay Freddie a visit?...

When you’ve mislaid a finger or two, Or dropped a few toes from your shoe, Call up Dr. Scott; He’s probably got New parts for those lost off’n you....

The artist again and again Tried to picture this guy with a pen, But it’s plain to be seen That a movie machine Is needed to catch up with Ben....

He’s at home on the turbulent blue; He’s fond of sky-piloting, too; In fact, no smart fellow Would call him a Yellow, Though that is his favorite hue....

The sugar king, minus his crown. His job is the sweetest in town. The picture we see is Supposed to mean he is Attempting to keep sugar down....

The Mayor of Toledo, and, yes, A friend of poor scribes in distress, So good and so kind That he even declined My offer to bet him on Jess....

You see him in Fields’s now and then, And talk about Regular Men, Why, I hear from him wonth The first of each month, And on the fifteenth, wonth again....

Somewhere in the book I have read That Mort is the French word for dead, A name which I claim Fits Mort Singer the same As a toque fits an elephant’s head....

The life of the party is Modie. In singing he hits like Ping Bodie, And his “Blowing Bubbles” Will banish your troubles As quickly as bourbon and sodie....

“I wish,” said the poor father bear, With the very last breath he could spare, “I wish Major Sprague Were in bed with the plague, Or else had remained Over There.”...

When his people, worn out by the scrap, Faced total extinction, this chap Came cheerfully through With a fortune or two, And now take a look at the map!...

The audience was saying, “How slow They are about starting this show!” When the manager peeked Through the curtain and squeaked: “Fred Sterling’s arrived. Let ’er go!”...

The gent who invented the flivver Still thinks of this guy with a shiver, And you bet your boots He will start no more suits Till Elliott’s crossed the dark river....

When he was a student at Yale, He burned midnight oil by the pail, And while it was burning, He must have been learning How oil could be earning him kale....

This boy is a regular doc With patients in every block, But if you fall sick And want him right quick, You’ll find him bo-peeping his stock....

This gent in the picture here shown Was not to our bankers well known Till he put his whole soul In “bags on the roll.” Now he has a roll of his own....

He can follow a clue in the dark And I recently heard him remark That he hoped in good time To abolish all crime And do nothing but ride in the park....

You almost won out, but not quite, sir. You put up a helluva fight, sir. Next time you go in, I’ll bet you won’t win, And you will, in a walk, Robert Sweitzer....

Remember the Fourth of July, When Dempsey closed Jessica’s eye? Well, I lost on the bout, But I met a good scout. Ad Thatcher’s a regular guy....

He’s got us all skinned by a block. We have to go down in the sock For tickets to see Mayilynn and Marie, While they pay their dough to see Doc....

Ed favors outdoors as a means Of developing human machines, If kids will work hard in The veg’table garden, He think they’ll have pretty good beans....

“I wonder,” they heard Philip say, “Which car I’ll drive down in today, The Packard, the Jackson, The Marmon, the Saxon, Or my new Minerva coupe.”...

Safeblowing is scarcely an art he Would look on or speak of with hearty Approval, save when It’s time for good men To come to the aid of the party....

He has written three thousand and three Pretty tunes, each a riot with me; But they tell me he won His place in the sun With “The Shade of the Old Apple Tree.”...

He doesn’t defend any speeders Nor yeggmen nor Bolshevik leaders, But his well-worded briefs Add much to the griefs Of opponents of Hen‑er‑y Veeder’s....

His kid went to face shot and shell, Which I’ll say is H-E-double L; A Blackhawk was he, So his daddy, John Z., Thought he’d put up a Blackhawk Hotel....

Oh, yes, he likes golfing; it’s fun. But he makes straighter shots with a gun. When he’s having good luck, He can putt at a duck And frequently hole it in one....

When the Lake Front’s a place we can play, When the Boulevard System’s OK, With no missing link, Charley Wacker will think It’s the end of a perfect day....

Does the boxing game pay when it’s clean? Just take a run up to Racine And get your reply From a look at this guy, So poverty-stricken and lean!...

When you go out to fish and no spot one, See Bill; he’s undoubtedly got one. As for catching ’em, he Would much rather be Out watching Chuck Deal catch a hot one....

I’m nearly stone deaf to the Call Of the Wild; I’ve no craving at all To slaughter Big Game. But I’d go just the same On any old trip with Tom Wall....

Each year he imports quite a gob Of diamonds, for that is his job, But he’s happier far With his clubs or his car, Or when rooting for Tyrus R. Cobb....

He loves to go fishing, which ain’t Original, curious or quaint, But he uses a great Line of chatter for bait, And he catches big contracts for paint....

He used to be some politish In my native commonwealth, Mich. His hobby, they say⁠— Why, he’s on it today, And sugar’s his favorite dish....

He’ll tell, if you’ve time for them all, The tale of each head on the wall. With him at the trigger, They tell me the bigger They are, why, the harder they fall....

While others just speculate rash Or frantic’ly tickerward dash, He’s old Safe and Sane When it comes down to grain: He buys and he always pays cash....

With print paper scarce and so high, P.A.’s find it hard to get by, But Welsh, of the Bar, Seems to get pretty far, So he must be a regular guy....

He once held the Elks’ money bag And didn’t make off with no swag, So I b’lieve in him, folks, When he counts up the strokes He had twixt the tee and the flag....

I wish I’d paid heed to you, Wickett, When you said, “If you’ve money, just stick it In oil and I know Where you’ll pick up some dough.” But I just didn’t stick it or pick it....

This party sells railroad supplies, And I hope he stings some of those guys. His hobbies, you see, Are oranges juicy And prunes of respectable size...

If you ever inquire of this bird What stock tips, if any, he’s heard, He’ll say in reply: “Well, gentlemen, I Am plunging in Holstein preferred.”...

I used to need money to spend and raise Hell, But now I am stopping at this here hotel. God bless you, St. Francis, Acushla Machree. Aroona Corona, you’re all right with me....

I suppose you’ve seen, in some magazine, These tales of Men’s Success: How Alfred Stout, who was down and out, Won wealth and happiness; How Lucius Polk, who was stony broke, Became well fixed for lif...

David⁠—he is my youngest son; There are, you know, three others⁠— Appears to think it’s not much fun To only just have brothers. He likes them all, you understand, But there is this objection: They do...

When Davey, my kid, takes a tumble And gets an abrasion or two, If you dare sympathize, he coolly replies: “It’s what I was trying to do.” When he smashes a toy he was fond of Or bursts a balloon that...

I hardly ever see a roof Which doesn’t shout, “Walk me, you goof!” I hardly ever pass a tree But that it barks, “You can’t climb me!” And I am warned by every wall, “Lay off me, Lardner, lest you fall...

Before we had money, we lived in a flat, The dear little woman and I. There wasn’t no danger of us getting fat, And the cellar was painfully dry. But though we now boast of a house in Duluth And go th...

Hardly a man is now alive Who cares that in March, 1885, I was born in the city of Niles, Michigan, which is 94 miles From Chicago, a city in Illinois. Sixteen years later, still only a boy, I graduat...

Oh, will a day, I wonder, ever be When S. Jay Kaufman does not write to me! Some days he just solicits information Regarding where I’m going next vacation. Some days he asks me (absolutely solemn) To ...

There was a man who wrote a play; One week it ran, then died away, Though critics said ’twould be a hit And even Ervine lauded it. ’Twas not too pure or too obscene; The plot was hot, the satire keen....

A napkin. A mitten. A pencil. Cards....

“In the Wake of the News” is a daily column in the Chicago Tribune for which Ring Lardner was the primary contributor from June 3, 1913⁠–⁠June 20, 1919. The poems in this section were all initially pu...