My hoss is gentle has no fears, And is slow if you dont ticcle his years. He has fore long legs and a drawn out hed, And so is cald a quadruped. Saturday morning enspection time i groom my hoss up clene and fine, But if his saddel aint packed wel, You bet Shorty gives me hel. My hoss must be fed before the men, Wen i dont do it I get hel agen, My hosses tale is very long the end of him and the end of my song. "I know," chuckled Shorty, "what was the inspiration for that second verse. I jumped all over him one Saturday for havin' his canteen on the near side an' his picket-pin upside-down where it would blame well spit him if he should fall on it. He's right he got all that was coming to him. I only got time for one more now--a short one. What shall it be?" "Try 'Fiting Joe And Dewey'; that's a bit different--might be classed under 'Poems of Ambition'." Shorty shuffled the papers and read: FITING JOE AND DEWEY Theres heaps of places in the world men wud lik to been and see But i tell you And I tell you true, That theres only 2 for me. Ide like to have worn my Countrys blu In the calvery riding or holding the tiller With Fiting joe at San Wan Hill or with Dewey at Manilla. And the old man says: "Ive been in slews of battels and ime toting in my shin A bullit from a johnny-rebils killer, But I am hail and harty and i wish that I had been With Fiting joe at San Wan Hill or Dewey at manilla." "How in Tophet did you come by this stuff, Sergeant?" asked the Captain, as he got up to put on his small coat, and, on tiptoe before a little hanging mirror, tried, ineffectually, to calm his upstanding hair with the ten-toothed comb of nature. "Why, sir, Ryan gave 'em to me to read. He came into my room two or three nights ago an' asked me if I wouldn't like to see them. Said he'd written that 'Destinny' quite a time ago, but that all the others were just recently finished; that he'd been writing a lot lately, an' felt as if he just _had_ to show 'em to somebody, an' he thought the other fellows would laugh at him. He said I might keep an' read them to anybody I thought would appreciate them. _He_ thinks they're Shaksperean." "Well," said Shorty, grabbing his hat and preparing to bolt, "I have sure appreciated 'em. But, you mark my words, there's a girl behind this. A fellow like Ryan doesn't go squanderin' rhymes for nothin', hombre. Adios." And off shot Shorty, with hands jammed deep in his pockets. "He's smart, all right," said Stone to himself; "the girl's there. Where the deuce is that bloomin' ode, 'To my Lady-Frend'?" Finding it, he read: Heaven meant things to go in 2s Cora, Thats why i am alone unhappy single. There won't be a bird or animal refuse Cora Each with other folks to mingle. So why do you give me the cold sholder Cora Is it becaws youre shi or love another? If youd only speak to your deer soljer Cora, Ide fite a feller if he was my brother.