THE SANDWICH GIRL

This is the story as told to me;

It may be a fairy-tale new,

But I know the man, and I know that he lies

Very infrequently, too!

When the boys in khaki first were called to serve,

Guarding railroad bridges and the like,

Bob was just a private in the old N. G.,

Fond of all the work — except the hike.

When they sent his comp'ny down the road a bit,

“Gee!” he said, “I'd like to commandeer

Some one's car and drive it — marching gets my goat!”

( Bob was quite a gas-car engineer. )

Lonesome work, this pacing up and down a bridge.

Now and then a loaded train goes by;

But at night — just nothing; everything was dead;

Empty world beneath an empty sky.

Then the chauffeur lady got into the game,

Drove her car each midnight to our tents,

Bringing us hot coffee, sandwiches, and pie;

All the others thought that was immense.

But Bob, ungrateful cuss, he would never say,

Like the rest, that she had saved their lives;

He was too blamed busy, like the one-armed man

Papering — the one that had the hives!

Bob would eat the lunches — eat and come again,

Silent, but as hungry as a pup;

Finish with a piece o’ pie, swallow it — and go;

Never had to make him hurry up!

Then one night we heard him talking to the girl,

Like he was complaining to her: “Say!

Ca n't you change the stuffing? I am sick of ham!

Have a heart! I'd just as lief eat hay!”

Did we all jump on him? You can bet we did:

“Who gave you the right to kick, you steer,

Over what she brings us? She's a first-rate pal;

Talk some more and get her on her ear!”

Bob was somewhat flustered; thought we had n't heard.

Then he said, “Well, ai n't you tired o’ ham?”

“What of that?” says Wilcox. “Think of how she works!

Spends her cash...!” ( All Bob said then was, “Damn!” )

Grabbing up his Springfield, “Listen, you!” he snaps.

“That's my motor and my gasoline.

Sure she's spending money — but it comes from me;

She's my sister, and her name's Irene!”

Then, as he marched himself into the night,

We looked at each other a spell.

“We've ditched our good luck — he wo n't let her come back,”

Says Wilcox. “Now is n't that hell!”