ong, a-handing out my samples
fine of Cheero Brand of sweet sunshine, and peddling optimistic pokes
and stable lines of japes and jokes to Lyceums and other folks, to
Rotarys, Kiwanis' Clubs, and feel I ain't like other dubs. And then old
Major Silas Satan, a brainy cuss who's always waitin', he gives his tail
a lively quirk, and gets in quick his dirty work. He fills me up with
mullygrubs; my hair the backward way he rubs; he makes me lonelier than
a hound, on Sunday when the folks ain't round. And then b' gosh, I would
prefer to never be a lecturer, a-ridin' round in classy cars and smoking
fifty-cent cigars, and never more I want to roam; I simply want to be
back home, a-eatin' flap jacks, hash, and ham, with folks who savvy whom
I am!

"But when I get that lonely spell, I simply seek the best hotel, no
matter in what town I be--St. Paul, Toledo, or K.C., in Washington,
Schenectady, in Louisville or Albany. And at that inn it hits my dome
that I again am right at home. If I should stand a lengthy spell in
front of that first-class hotel, that to the drummers loves to cater,
across from some big film theayter; if I should look around and buzz,
and wonder in what town I was, I swear that I could never tell! For all
the crowd would be so swell, in just the same fine sort of jeans they
wear at home, and all the queens with spiffy bonnets on their beans, and
all the fellows standing round a-talkin' always, I'll be bound, the same
good jolly kind of guff, 'bout autos, politics and stuff and baseball
players of renown that Nice Guys talk in my home town!

"Then when I entered that hotel, I'd look around and say, "Well, well!"
For there would be the same news-stand, same magazines and candies
grand, same smokes of famous standard brand, I'd find at home, I'll
tell! And when I saw the jolly bunch come waltzing in for eats at lunch,
and squaring up in natty duds to platters large of French Fried spuds,
why then I'd stand right up and bawl, "I've never left my home at all!"
And all replete I'd sit me down beside some guy in derby brown upon a
lobby chair of plush, and murmur to him in a rush, "Hello, Bill, tell
me, good old scout, how is your stock a-holdin' out?" Then we'd be off,
two solid pals, a-chatterin' like giddy gals of flivvers, weather, home,
and wives, lodge-brothers then for all our lives! So when Sam Satan
makes you blue, good friend, that's what I'd up and do, for in these
States where'er you roam, you never lea