Horatio joined a big league team, Thus gratifying boyhood's dream, And got the rooters rooting; He was the captain of the crew At spearing flies and ground balls, too; He never thought of booting. One night when Jack Frost whispered zero, A man named Fletcher met our hero And offered him a salary So large and thick and fat and round That it would reach from near the ground Clear to the upper gallery. Horatio listened, felt the clutch, And subsequently got in Dutch, His former chieftain fired him. The chieftain watched his bowed down head, And, asked for explanation, said Horatio tired him. "All right!" Horatio said, "you betcher I'll go and get some coin from Fletcher," But he was snubbed that morning. So, baseball players, if you're wise, And think you'd like to Fletcherize, Hark to the Gypsy's warning! I WAS WITH CLARKE "I was with Clarke," the pitcher said To the Pittsburg millionaire. The rich man bowed his silvery head To the pitcher standing there. "Enough, good man! Give me your mitt! Walk right in, I implore. Fred Clarke or any friend of his Finds here an open door." "I was with Clarke," the pitcher said. "Never mind," the rich man cried. "Right over there is a Morris chair-- Come, sit you by my side. And so you pitched for Clarke. Well, well! Try a flagon of this wine, For any friend of Frederick Clarke Is sure a friend of mine." "I was with Clarke," the twirler said. "So you told me," said his host. "Fill up your glass, and let me pass The best cigar I boast." "As I was saying," the pitcher cried, Taking a puff and sip, "As I was saying, I was with Clarke On one Spring training trip!" Then from his cozy seat arose That Pittsburg millionaire. He grabbed the stranger by the nose And yanked him from his chair. And then he closed the truthful eyes And split the lower lip Of the man who was with Frederick Clarke On one Spring training trip. "HOME FOLKS" "Stranger, give me a chaw of terbaccer," Came from the lanky Georgia "cracker." "Know Ty Cobb? Wal, you bet we do! Desperate youngster, tough clear through! This is his home, but we ain't too proud. We hope he'll stay with that Dee-troit crowd. From all we hear, he spends his nights Roamin' the streets and havin' fights. And when he's playin', from what folks say, He spikes a baserunner every day. Stranger, we're all his father's friends, But them wild young blades all strikes bad ends!"