h' night, dhreamin' that ye was back at th' gas-house
with ye'er money gone. Ye'd be prisidint iv a charitable society. Ye'd
have to wear ye'er shoes in th' house, an' ye'er wife'd have ye around
to rayciptions an' dances. Ye'd move to Mitchigan Avnoo, an' ye'd hire a
coachman that'd laugh at ye. Ye'er boys'd be joods an' ashamed iv ye,
an' ye'd support ye'er daughters' husbands. Ye'd rackrint ye'er tinants
an' lie about ye'er taxes. Ye'd go back to Ireland on a visit, an' put
on airs with ye'er cousin Mike. Ye'd be a mane, close-fisted,
onscrupulous ol' curmudgeon; an', whin ye'd die, it'd take haf ye'er
fortune f'r rayqueems to put ye r-right. I don't want ye iver to speak
to me whin ye get rich, Hinnissy."

"I won't," said Mr. Hennessy.

LOVE SONNETS OF A HOODLUM

BY WALLACE IRWIN

I

Say, will she treat me white, or throw me down,
Give me the glassy glare, or welcome hand,
Shovel me dirt, or treat me on the grand,
Knife me, or make me think I own the town?
Will she be on the level, do me brown,
Or will she jolt me lightly on the sand,
Leaving poor Willie froze to beat the band,
Limp as your grandma's Mother Hubbard gown?

I do not know, nor do I give a whoop,
But this I know: if she is so inclined
She can come play with me on our back stoop,
Even in office hours, I do not mind--
In fact I know I'm nice and good and ready
To get an option on her as my steady.

VIII

I sometimes think that I am not so good,
That there are foxier, warmer babes than I,
That Fate has given me the calm go-by
And my long suit is sawing mother's wood.
Then would I duck from under if I could,
Catch the hog special on the jump and fly
To some Goat Island planned by destiny
For dubs and has-beens and that solemn brood.
But spite of bug-wheels in my cocoa tree,
The trade in lager beer is still a-humming,
A schooner can be purchased for a V
Or even grafted if you're fierce at bumming.
My finish then less clearly do I see,
For lo! I have another think a-coming.

IX

Last night I tumbled off the water cart--
It was a peacherino of a drunk;
I put the cocktail market on the punk
And tore up all the sidewalks from the start.
The package that I carried was a tart
That beat Vesuvius out for sizz and spunk,
And when they put me in my little bunk
You couldn't tell my jag and m