EST MODUS IN REBUS

I would not say to man, “Don’ t spread yourself

To win the admiration of mankind,”

Since he who never spreads can never shine,

And he who never shines is never seen,

And he who’ s never seen is counted out

In the great game of life; yet what is spread

Too thin entirely, when the sun shines out

Must soon dry up and be a fly-away.

There was a man who took his daily dine

At a delightful table d’ hôte, where he

Was waited on by an obedient youth,

Who, as a waiter, was a paragon

Of quick politeness. He’ d apologise

If the sun shone too much, or if it rained,

And say in simple faith that he would speak

To the proprietor and have it changed,

Then vanish like an elfin fly-away.

The vulgar boarder at this table d’ hôte

Was one who greatly loved to spread himself

And play the imperial before the rest;

And finding that the waiter cushioned it,

Sat down on him severely. Every time

He spoke he called him names, and said that he

Forthwith would punish him in cruel wise

Unless he tortled faster, or unless

The steak was better cooked. And then he’ d swear —

Oh, death and dandelions! how he would swear!

Till all the blood of all the boarders round

Was almost turned to cherry-water ice,

And each and all wished they could fly away.

And yet this waiter had a fund reserved

Of pretty stout pugnacity and pride,

And every time the boarder called him “fool,”

Or “low-born rooster,” he would add it up

To the preceding pile of expletives,

And think it over. He did not forget

A single word. Of all the abusatives

There was not one which proved a fly-away.

At last the crisis came, when one fine day,

For some imagined fault, the boarder said

Unto the waiter, that unless he stirred

A little quicker he would bung his eye,

And take him by the legs instanter-ly

And wipe the floor with him. But with that word

He overdrew the account. That was the fly

Which overset the camel, and the drop

Which made the pail slop over. For the youth

On that let out his Injun. All at once

He turned both red and white, as fat and lean

Are seen in a beefsteak before’ tis cooked,

And blew his soul out in a fly-away.

“You misspelled copy of a gentleman

With all the meaning lost!— if you dare call

Me names again as you have often done,

I’ ll bung your pallid eyes. You’ ve said too much,

So now just dwindle down. I’ ve always been

Obedient and polite, and served you well,

As you were never served by any one,

And all you ever gave me was abuse,

And all because you were a vulgar fool.

Now stop your noise, or I will sling you out

Of yonder window for a fly-away!”

The boarder rose as if in roaring wrath,

The waiter jerked his linen jacket off

And fairly danced about in gypsy style,

Impatient for a fight. But then the guest

As if with self-command restrained himself,

And said to the assembled company,

“There must be lines in all society

To regulate our conduct. Lines, I say,

Which separate us from the vulgar herd,

With whom we may not fight. I draw the line

At waiters.” Here he looked about the room

To be applauded; but the only sound

Which rose was that of a tremendous slap

On his own face, and then a mighty roar

Of laughter from the happy company,

For all his valour was a fly-away.

So he sat down too terrified to speak;

And then the waiter took a dripping jug

Of ice-water and poured out every drop

Upon his head, yea, water, ice, and all;

And then that boarder burst in bitter tears,

And blubbered like a boy, while all the room

Rang with redoubled laughter. Then a guest

Proposed a vote of thanks to him who had

Put down a public nuisance, and the next

Passed round a hat and took collection up

To give the waiter as a small reward

For punishing a coward. Then he rose,

And since that hour has been a fly-away.