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.