XXI

Next week the wedding-bells wo n't do a thing,

For I'll be there, I guess, to fill the set,

And Pansy's Ma, she wo n't be late, you bet,

To see the Reverend Mr. pull the string.

Me for a spike-tailed scabbard and a ring,

A shell-back shirt, forsooth a peacherette.

I'll be the daintiest bridegroom ever yet;

Nothing to do but take the count, then - bing!

Love in a cottage run on union pay -

Can Teddy Roosevelt do a sum like that?

Two can eat cheap as one, perhaps, but say,

You've got to beat a quarter pretty flat

To cork three squares, make Little Two Shoes snug

And keep the Wolf from chewing up the rug.