TRIBUTE TO A GNARLED TREE

By Eloise Jarvis McGraw
Author of The Rundelstone of Oz, Merry Go Round in Oz, The Forbidden Fountain of Oz, The Moorchild, etc.

Originally published under her maiden name Eloise Jarvis in The Tri-High Journal, Spring Number, Vol. 1, No. 2, May 1930, Oklahoma City Senior High Schools.

Spring, with all her fluttering draperies
Is here, and blossoms bright and pale
Shower from the laden trees
All up and down the green-floored vale.
And wanderers weak and wanly weary
Sink upon the velvet sward
And lean upon the friendly, bleary
Trunk of some kind orchard lord.
A twisted trunk, and cruelly bent,
And in itself not fine to see,
But oh, what angel heaven-sent
So strong as this dear gnarled tree?
What shoulder white so soft to lean
Upon, while sleep doth hover near?
What anguish is so swift and keen
To comfort from a tired heart’s tear
While leaning on the giant bole
Of this good soul in warped form?
Who plays so wise and well the role
Of comforter to the forlorn?
There’s none, and grateful mortals thank,
With lifted arms, such boons as these:
The spring, the flowers, growing rank,
And tender trunks of gnarled trees!

Originally published in the Philadelphia Public Ledger, January 12, 1919.

Tobogganing in Supposyville With the King and Queen and Sir Solomon Tremendous Wise

The coasting hill in Supposyville’s
The finest that I know.
And you should see the bobsleds
Skitterwitching down it though!

A sled is an essential
In that jolly realm of fun.
Why, pshaw! there’s not a person there
Without a corking one.

It makes no difference as to age,
Condition, shape or size;
A fit for any figure’s made by
Solomon T. Wise.

The King’s cook, who’s uncommon fat,
Requires a special strength,
While the tailor, who is awf’ly thin,
Has his sled built for length.

The King’s is wonderful to see—
Though the Queen does the steering;
For when his Highness has the wheel
Snow-bankward they go veering.

Big and little, broad and slim,
The sleds go gayly swooping
Down the hill; a dozen spill,
Then up they go a-trooping.

Those merry, dear Supposy folk—
The old and middling old ones—
The boys and girls and famous earls,
The timid and the bold ones!

Yes, every white and moonlight night
You’ll find the Kingdom coasting,
With bonfires crackling here and there
For toe and finger toasting!

No wonder they’re so healthy,
And so free from all malignity;
No wonder they’re so jolly—why
They simple have no dignity.

And while we’re on the subject—
If you’re troubled with a lot—
Just take a header down a hill
And see how much you’ve got
(Left.)

Copyright © 2026 Eric Shanower and David Maxine. All rights reserved.

KING’S TOOTH BRINGS NEW ADVENTURE

By Ruth Plumly Thompson
Author of The Lost King of Oz, "The Wizard of Pumperdink," "King, King! Double King!" etc.

Originally published in the Oregon Sunday Journal, February 15, 1920.

 

 

Once upon a time the king of the forest lost his best tooth. A tooth is a very important possession of a king, and old Leo dared not roar or smile in the presence of his subjects, because once they missed that sharp tooth they would plot for his downfall.

 

The old lion thought and thought, and at last resolved to consult Abner Elephant, one of his most trusted friends, and get his advice. The house of Mr. and Mrs. Elephant, with whom Uncle Abner lived, was in the deepest part of the jungle, and the whole family was thrown into a flutter by the unexpected visit from the king.

 

Oliver Elephant, Uncle Abner’s little nephew, was sent straight to bed because the king explained that he had come upon a very secret mission.

 

The king looked anxiously all around to be sure no one was listening. Then in an agitated whisper he told them of the loss of his sharpest tooth. He could remember nothing about it, he said, but waking up in the morning and finding it gone.

 

“If you can find it for me I shall give you the freedom of the forest and a royal talisman to protect you from every beast in the jungle,” said the king.

 

Uncle Abner did what he could to comfort his royal majesty, and promised to search diligently for the missing tooth. So the king returned to his castle greatly encouraged.

 

Now I know Oliver Elephant was supposed to be asleep. But what little boy, elephant or human, is going to sleep with a king sitting in the parlor? Oliver, I am sorry to say, put his big ear to the floor and heard the whole story.  He resolved himself to find the king’s tooth and win the freedom of the jungle.

 

Next day instead of going to school Oliver went off under a tree and sat down to think.

 

Of course, one thing was sure. It was impossible for Oliver to go to the king’s palace without disclosing his purpose. But he went to the end of the gate and looked reflectively into the monarch’s private drinking pool, which was just outside. No one was in sight and the water was so clear and tempting that Oliver resolved to have a swim. A big sign stood on the edge of the pool stating clearly:

 

“King’s pool. All trespassing forbidden under penalty of fine and imprisonment.”

 

But Oliver decided to take one plunge and come right out. Down, down, down he dived, then gave a gurgle of pain. Something had stuck in his trunk. He rose to the surface and clambered crossly out on the bank.

 

Then he gave a squeal of surprise. For there stuck in his trunk was—what do you ’spose? The king’s tooth! He clapped it into his pocket and was just about to start off when two of the palace guards seized him and hustled him into the king’s presence.

 

The king was holding court---talking out of one side of his mouth so his missing tooth would not be seen. But when he heard that Oliver had dared to swim in his drinking pool he gave a roar of anger. Then, clapping his paw over his mouth, and gazing around anxiously, he ordered Oliver to be turned out of the jungle.

 

“If it wasn’t for your Uncle Abner I’d have you made into chowder!” he shouted sideways. Oliver was terribly frightened, but begged to speak to the monarch alone, saying he had a message from his uncle.

 

The king looked at him sharply, then waved his subjects out.

 

“Your majesty,” said Oliver, regaining his courage, “walking on the edge of your pool this morning I was attracted by something white shining on the bottom. Looking closer I saw that it was—” (the king began to tremble with nervousness).

 

“What?” he asked weakly.

 

“Your majesty’s peerless tooth!” said Oliver, producing it from his pocket with a great flourish. “At great risk to myself I recovered it and am here to claim the reward.”

 

The king was so delighted to get his tooth again that he forgot to ask Oliver how he had heard of his loss. Pulling a small gold ring from his robe he tied it on a piece of red string around Oliver’s neck, and after that none of the jungle animals dared so much as growl at the little jungle boy, for he possessed the king’s talisman of protection. As for the king, he had his tooth soldered in and, although he could not chew on that side, his subjects never discovered it and, as far as I know, he is still monarch of the jungle.

 

 

Originally published in the Philadelphia Public Ledger, January 5, 1919.

A War in Supposyville

In windy winter
When the snow
Covers the roofs
And roads below;

When trees in icy
Armor stand,
And ponds are frozen
Out of hand,

One can expect
At any minute—
A war—their Majesties
Begin it!

No wonder you’re surprised!
A war
In that quaint realm—
Whatever for?

And ’tis a real war.
No one know
When to expect
The wily foes.

The Kingdom in
Two camps divides,
And drills and
Ammunition hides.

Then suddenly and
Without warning
Issue the King and Court
Some morning

With shields and pails
Of ammunition,
Then flies each man
To his position.

Each lad and lassie,
Every one—
And that’s the way
The war’s begun.

A royal, raging,
High-pitched battle,
While trumpets blow
And drumsticks rattle.

With charges, rushes,
Falls and tumbles;
With everything ’cept
Cannon rumbles.

A SNOWBALL WAR
Most fast and furious,
But not the slightest
Bit injurious.

And when the victors
From the field
Have chased the vanquished,
Peace is sealed.

And all march home
With rosy cheeks,
To laugh and talk
For several weeks.

Copyright © 2026 Eric Shanower and David Maxine. All rights reserved.

THE WOODS IN OCTOBER

By Eloise Jarvis McGraw

Author of The Rundelstone of Oz, Merry Go Round in Oz, The Forbidden Fountain of Oz, The Moorchild, etc.

Originally published under her maiden name Eloise Jarvis in Literary Youth, November 1929, Oklahoma City Junior High Schools.

A keen, invigorating breeze sweeps the woods, resplendent in a myriad of gypsy colors, and some waxy, curled leaves swirl to the ground. They lie ankle-deep on the brown  earth, swirling and twirling upward with every gust of fresh October wind. The gentians add a tinge of royal purple to the scene. And in and out through the gaily bedecked trees dances October.

A gypsy maiden, black of hair, scarlet of lip, flings her brown arms up in glee, and laughs at the scolding squirrel above her.

Her black eyes dance and her feet seem to flit over the top of the carpet of golden and red autumn leaves. She spins and twirls and skips like a black and red autumn leaf among the trees, from which she has copied her gaudy scarlet and gold gown. A bunch of red berries are wreathed in her hair, and an aster tucked in her belt. She’s as carefree and beautiful as the splendid woods in which she plays, and the whole world seems to catch some of her gaiety and blytheness in the fall of the year. May it always be so!

Originally published in the Philadelphia Public Ledger, December 29, 1918.

Sir Solomon on Skating

Sir Solomon approached the King

With sober face.

“There is a time for everything—

A time and place!

“Your Highness, and

I must admit—

A time and place

I find unfit.

“Take skating,

’Tis a worthy art

And full of thrills

That warm the heart.

“But ’tis unseemly

In some places

And times. Beau Sire,

Your kingdom faces

“A season when

The snow and ice

Forbid a gait

Safe and precise.

“The Highways turn

To skating rinks

Unfit for man

And beast—methinks!

“Skating’s a joyous thing,

Of course,

But unbecoming

In a horse.

“To keep four legs

In motion nice

Upon a highway

Full of ice

“Is quite impossible,

His load

And self oft tumble

In the road.

“Therefore, in time

Let us prepare.

I’ve fashioned shoes

For steeds to wear,

“And for our sundry

Selves and those

Whose gait with time

Unsteady grows!

“Therefore, O King!

I’ve brought them here.”

The King smiled on

His kindly seer.

“Adopted now

Upon the spot,

And let there be

No steed who’s not

“Equipped with safety

Shoes, and all

My subjects who’d

Avoid a fall

“Shall have them too.

Pray let this be

Made forthwith to

A High Decree!”

(So it was—and very sensible I call it.)

Copyright © 2026 Eric Shanower and David Maxine. All rights reserved.

OLIVER ELEPHANT'S GAME OF BALL

By Ruth Plumly Thompson

Author of The Wishing Horse of Oz, The Curious Cruise of Captain Santa, "The Wizard of Pumperdink," etc.

Originally published in the Hartford Courant, November 10, 1918.

 

 

“I do wish,” grumbled Oliver Elephant, “the other fellows had trunks so I could play cocoanut ball with some one besides the monkeys!”

Uncle Abner Elephant looked up from the Jungle Review and sighed. It was too bad that Oliver Elephant had no big little brothers or sisters to play with and that he was the only little elephant boy in the neighborhood.

“Can’t Tommy Tapir play with you?” he asked mournfully.

“He hasn’t any trunk,” complained Oliver bitterly. “He shoves the cocoanut around with his nose and misses every single throw.”

“Well, why not play with the monkeys?” Uncle Abner wanted to finish his paper in peace.

“The don’t play fair; they run up the trees when they miss and bang me on the head with cocoanuts!” Oliver swung his trunk to and fro in a grieved manner, and Uncle Abner sighed unhappily. As Mr. and Mrs. Oliver Elephant both declared, he spoiled their child to pieces.

Perhaps he did, but then an old bachelor elephant must have something to spoil. Now Uncle Abner reached in his pocket and took out a jungle dime.

“Here, go buy yourself a bag of nuts!”

Oliver brightened up a little at this and started off toward Mr. Brown Bear’s hollow tree shop.

“What makes you so solemn, Oliver?” asked old Uncle Ursus Brown Bear, as he measured out the nuts in a tin cup.

“Nobody to play with!” mumbled Oliver crunching the half dozen nuts in his trunk.

“I’ll play with you!” Johnny Bear bobbed up from behind the counter, but Oliver Elephant only shook his head.

“Too little!” he exclaimed gloomily. “If I’d throw a cocoanut at you it would bowl you over. How could you catch, it, I’d like to know, and then you’d run and tell your ma and she’d tell my ma and what fun would that be?”

So Oliver clumped along crossly chewing nuts and scolding to himself and acting in a way I am ashamed of. That’s the truth. For after all there are lots of things to play besides ball.

Meantime, Uncle Abner Elephant was still worrying.

“Too bad the poor child is so big and all! Too bad!” he muttered, knocking the ashes from his pipe.

Then all at once he gave a whistle and whipping out his penknife he disappeared in the direction of the forest.

When supper time came he rushed in all out of breath with a big package done up in jungle leaves under his arm. No one noticed it. Mr. and Mrs. Oliver were too busy discussing the new Bear family who had just moved into the woods, and Oliver was still sulky.

No one noticed either when Uncle Abner disappeared right after supper nor heard him whistling away for dear life in his room.

Next morning Oliver woke up with the same grieved feeling and with his big cocoanut ball under his trunk came lounging down to breakfast.

He had just about made up his mind to run away to a place where there were more elephant boys and girls.

Breakfast wasn’t quite ready and, as he was determined to have one last meal at home before his big adventure, he went out on the porch to wait.

There in his rocking chair sat Uncle Abner surveying with great pride a set of the finest—well, what do you s’pose?

Tenpins! And each one had a monkey head carved on the top. Oliver had never seen tenpins in his life and he was so surprised that he dropped his ball, which went scurrying down the porch and knocked over eight.

“Fine!” said Uncle Abner.

“Doesn’t this beat playing with live monkeys!”

“See if you can knock ’em all down!”

And Oliver did. They became so interested that Mrs. Oliver Elephant had to drag them in to breakfast. And after that Oliver Elephant played ball by himself and had no end of fun.

But how Uncle Abner came to know about tenpins was this: His half brother had been captured and trained for a circus and one of his special stunts was playing tenpins. In a way which is quite remarkable, but really too long and roundabout to explain, he escaped and returned to the jungle, where he became an authority on many subjects.

I am glad Uncle Abner remembered this game, because I should not have liked Oliver to run away. Should you?

Originally published in the Philadelphia Public Ledger, December 22, 1918.

Merrie Christmas in Supposyville

Over each snow-covered

Highway and hill

Goes the Crier of News

In Supposyville.

Sweet through the stillness

His bell tolls its way,

And his voice is as clear

As the chimes on a sleigh.

“Christmas morning! Awake!

Ye good people, awake!”

Then the bells in the towers

The sweet echo take

And toss it aloft—

Back and forth, to and fro,

And lights twinkle down

On the white sparkling snow.

And then in a breath

All the chimes cease their ringing,

And through the soft air

Comes a sudden sweet singing

Of stately old carols

By voices so young,

It seems that from Heaven

Itself they are flung.

Dear and old fashioned—

But that is the way

Supposyville wakens

On sweet Christmas Day.

Though later with stockings

And feastings and fun

They finish the day

They’ve so quaintly begun.

When I think of the carols,

The bells and the rest,

It seems the beginning

Is sweetest and best!

Copyright © 2026 Eric Shanower and David Maxine. All rights reserved.

DUSK

By Eloise Jarvis McGraw
Author of The Rundelstone of Oz, Merry Go Round in Oz, The Forbidden Fountain of Oz, The Moorchild, etc.

Originally published under her maiden name Eloise Jarvis in Literary Youth, Spring 1930, Oklahoma City Junior High Schools. An editorial note says of the work, “Eloise Jarvis really saw the ‘strange, weird denizens of the forest’ which she pictures here, while on a camping trip in Oregon last summer.”

Dusk! The time when all the strange, weird denizens

Of the shadowy forest

Come out to laugh and play.

The bats, like tiny, winged mice,

The owls, whose questioning “Who? Who? Who?”

Breaks the deepening silence of the calm summer night.

The fireflys, who light from time to time

Wee fairy circles, with their rosy glow.

All dear, friendly enemies

Whose carefree hearts know no foe.

Originally published in the Philadelphia Public Ledger, December 15, 1918.

Sir Solomon Makes His Christmas List

Sir Solomon Tremendous Wise

Beside his fire sat thinking;

Upon the hearth his faithful cat

All solemnly lay blinking.

The sage’s scientific brow

With furrows deep was knotted.

He held in hand a lengthy scroll

On which at times he jotted.

He’d several blots upon his robe;

His hair in disarray

Stood straight on end, and as he penned,

I heard the old dear say:

“Two peacocks and a pair of gloves,

Three puppies and a sled.

A chain and locket—no—I guess

I’ll get a watch instead!

“What shall I give my cook? Oh, my!

I almost had forgotten

Sir Hubert Herbert Harrington

And Madam Finley Wotten.

“There now, except their Majesties,

The Queen and King, that’s all.

Let’s see—ahem!—this choosing gifts

Is quite a ticklish call.

“They’ve golden chains and rings and cups

And dogs and silks and baskets;

They’ve rugs and jugs and silver mugs

And jewels in lovely caskets.”

The poor sage rubbed his head in vain—

’Tis hard to find a thing,

One must admit, both fine and fit

To please a Queen or King.

Then suddenly he gave a chuckle

And off upstairs he hurried,

And in his laboratory huge

Both back and forth he scurried.

And soon beneath his clever hands

There grew Supposyville,

With stages, pages, courtiers, tradesmen,

Blacksmith shop and mill.

“I’ve noticed,” laughed Sir Solomon,

“That when it comes to toys

The grownups like ’em just as well

As little girls and boys.

“And when the toy’s mechanical

The children stand around,

While dad and mother make ’em start

And stop!” Well, I’ll be bound.

(That is the truth.)

Copyright © 2026 Eric Shanower and David Maxine. All rights reserved.

OLIVER ELEPHANT TO THE RESCUE

By Ruth Plumly Thompson
Author of The Hungry Tiger of Oz, The Curious Cruise of Captain Santa, "The Wizard of Pumperdink," etc.

Originally published in the Syracuse Herald, October 24, 1915.

 

 

Mother and Father and Uncle Abner Elephant had gone visiting. Oliver Elephant was all alone. There wasn’t a sound in the room ’cept the sleepy ticking of the clock and the rustle of the leaves as Oliver turned over the pages of his history book. “Ump!” grunted the big, little elephant at last. “Nothing wonderful ever happens to ME—guess I could be a hero if I ever had the chance! ‘The messenger delivered the letter to the king—saving his life and the life of his countrymen!’” he finished with a sigh. “If—UGH—what’s that?” Footsteps were approaching.

Oliver to his feet, his eyes glued to the door. Something bumped violently against it—and the NEXT minute—the next minute—a dark, furry body staggered into the room, rolled over and over on the floor, then lay still. Oliver’s heart pounded like twenty drums—he scarcely breathed. Then as the dark object didn’t stir he tip-toed over to it holding the lamp in his trunk.

It was a young tiger. Limp and seemingly lifeless it lay there, one of its legs broken and a dark crimson stain on its shining coat. At first, Oliver was going to run for his mother—then (you’ll hardly believe what I’m going to tell you next)—then a white envelope clutched in the tiger’s paw caught his eye. “To His Majesty the King!” was scrawled across the back and after that “DANGER!”

All of the history stories Oliver had been reading rushed through his head. “He was carrying a message,” thought he—“and somehow he’s hurt—DANGER—it must be very important!” He looked at the clock. It was 9—and his mother and father would soon be home. They would take care of the wounded messenger, but HE, HE, Oliver Elephant must take the letter to the king!  Propping a pillow under the tiger’s head, he seized the letter and rushed out into the pitch black jungle night.

He had never been to the king’s court, but he had often heard his father and Uncle Abner telling about it, and he knew that it lay on the other side of the deep river in the midst of a tangled growth of trees. Holding the letter fast in his trunk, he rushed through the night, crushing and crackling the branches beneath his huge feet like grain beneath a thresher. He forgot he was only a little boy elephant still studying his multiplications under old Professor Bear. Rushing with the wonderful letter seemed to turn him into some one else—he already fancied himself a grand Minister of State with gold buttons on his jacket. He even forgot to be afraid—and the deep, dark jungle is the last place I should like to be at night, I can tell you!

The river looked black and shimmery and scaresome, but Oliver Elephant plunged in and cut his way across like one of our big ferryboats. Holding the precious message high out of the water in his trunk, he scrambled up the opposite bank, shook himself, and started again on his mad tear through the trees. Every once in a while little furry creatures would scamper out of his way, green eyes peered down at him from the trees and up at him from the bushes. Startled monkey heads darted in and out as he passed and there was a great chattering as to what in the world could be the matter. “Won’t Tommy Tapir stare when I tell him? Won’t Uncle Abner Elephant be surprised?” thought Oliver as he panted along. “Almost there—just the other side of—”

Crash! Up went Oliver Elephant’s trunk, then down went he—down—in a tangle of branches, wire and net. He had fallen into a trap set by some cunning men and covered with branches and leaves. For a minute he was too stunned to move—he was down in a deep pit and so tangled up in a heavy net that getting out seemed impossible.

The first thing he thought of was the letter and he felt around till he had gotten hold of it. He didn’t think of his own danger at all—the only thing he could think of was the message. “What will happen, how will I get out of here, how will I get the letter to him?” he raged, slashing from side to side. “Hello!” called a voice suddenly. Oliver Elephant peered up. Stretched over the edge of the pit was the head of a huge snake—a python. “Can I do anything for you, comrade?”

“Yes! yes!” almost screamed Oliver. “Take this message to the king—hurry! hurry!” He held the letter aloft and the snake took it out of his trunk and slid noiselessly away in the dark.

Well, well! we are almost to the end of our story, for the python rushed to the king’s court and in a little while Oliver Elephant, fuming and struggling in the trap, heard the thudding of many feet. The king and all his court had come to help him. Oh, what a king he was—the most perfectly splendid LION you ever saw—and there were panthers and tigers and leopards, wolves and bears, and every other sort of jungle beast, and they all were roaring compliments to Oliver Elephant. The king gave him one of the gold buttons off his robe and let it down on a gold chain, saying a good bit about Oliver having saved his life—and the lives of all the other animals thereabouts. For the letter brought news of traps—just like the one into which Oliver had fallen—fifty of them—set all around the king’s favorite hunting grounds.

A messenger was dispatched to Oliver’s mother and father and it wasn’t long before they and Uncle Abner besides came puffing up. How to get him out was the question and if it hadn’t been for the great python, he would probably have been there yet, but, what do you think? He slid down into the pit, under Oliver Elephant’s, stomach, then up again. King and a dozen tigers caught hold of his tail and Oliver Elephant’s father caught hold of him just behind the head and they pulled and slowly, slowly, drew him up. The python stretched a foot or so, but he was very polite about it and said he didn’t mind it in the least. The messenger tiger recovered in time—he had been shot in the leg it turned out, and the king to celebrate the event, entertained the whole party in his palace, presenting each with a gold figure of himself as a souvenir and promising Oliver Elephant a high position at court as soon as he should finish school. My, my! did any one ever hear such a story before?

Originally published in the Philadelphia Public Ledger, December 8, 1918.

A Model and Merry Castle

Heighho! there’s a castle
The like of which
You never have seen!
And it’s standing

High up on a hill
In Supposyville—
All the countryside
Round—commanding!

Flags flutter from each
Of its turrets and spires,
And the blue smoke curls up
From its big grate fires.

And oh! you should see it,
Sweethearts, o’ nights
A twinkle with thousands
Of candle light.

The gates are wide open
Just all the time
And Supposies are
Going and coming

Both early and late;
Courtiers, people of state,
Lads and lassies
A whistling and humming.

’Tis built—well, you’ll never
Once guess what it’s built of;
Never once in the world
Little honey—

’Tis built all of books,
So no wonder it looks
So delightfully,
Brightfully funny!

Its walls are all pictures
Of fairy tale places;
The furniture’s
Taken from stories,

The kitchen and cupboards
Like old Mother Hubbard’s
All papered in quaint
Jack-a-Gories!

There are caves, hidden stairways,

Throne rooms and all sorts
Of apartments made
Famous in rhymes,

And in this Book Castle
Supposyville’s youth
Have most wonderful
Make-believe times!

Every book that is cheerful
Or famous is there,
And before the huge
Grate fires they lie

And read about Princes
And pixies and elves,
About giants a half
A mile high!

Then they play all the books,
And the jolly Bookkeeper
Finds costumes and things
For them all.

We really must drop in
Some time, you and I,
And make a
Supposyville call!

Copyright © 2025 Eric Shanower and David Maxine. All rights reserved.

THE ORPHEUS ROAD SHOW

By L. Frank Baum
Author of The Wonderful Wizard of Oz, The Treasure of Karnak, Daughters of Destiny, etc.

Lyrics from “The Orpheus Road Show,” Uplifters’ High Jinks, Coronado, CA, October 1917.

Never Strike Your Father, Boy

Seldom baste your Mother, lad; ’twas she who gave you life;
Don’t often pound your Sister—save your thumpings for your Wife;
And if yo’ knock your Auntie down ’twill be for cause, I know,
But never strike yo’ Father, boy—unless you need the dough.

The Girl in my Home Town

My girl is a shy girl

But she’s my girl—

That’s why I miss her;

I’m far away today

But say! Some day

I’ll hug and kiss her;

Fair girls and rare girls,

Blue eyes and brown,

Are ev’rywhere, but none compare

With the girl in my home town.

Goose Pimples

She was only foolin’

When she let me call her “hun”;

She was only foolin’

’Cause all she loved was “mon”;

She was only foolin’

And lookin’ out for fat—

She kept my four dollars

And just let me holler—

It gave me goose-pimples at that!

Originally published in the Philadelphia Public Ledger, December 1, 1918

Solomon Tremendous Wise and the Royal Sleigh of Supposyville

Heighho! but I wish
You had seen the sleigh
Of their Royal Highnesses
Pass today.

With silver bells
And horses white,
I tell you now
’Twas a dashing sight.

Horses ten and
Footmen two,
Cushioned in gold
And deep sea blue.

Along in a whirl
Of snow it sped,
With couriers galloping
On ahead

To clear the way
And prevent a spill,
While the King and Queen
Of Supposyville,

In white fur robes
Securely belted,
With apples and cakes
Their subjects pelted.

Old Solomon
Tremendous Wise
The sleigh at a turn
In the road espies.

And, giving his steed
A prod, sets out
To see what such furious
Speed’s about.

Panting and breathless
He comes ’longside.
“One moment, your Highnesses!
Stop!” he cried.

But they only laughed.
“No time for stopping.
We’re off to finish
Our Christmas shopping!”

The words came back
As they round a curve
In a manner requiring
Technique and nerve.

“A good idea,”
Quoth Mr. Wise;
And after the two
At top speed hies.

It must be fun
To shop that way.
Wish we could ride
In that Royal sleigh!

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