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+Project Gutenberg's The Love Sonnets of a Car Conductor, by Wallace Irwin
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: The Love Sonnets of a Car Conductor
+
+Author: Wallace Irwin
+
+Release Date: March, 2004  [EBook #5332]
+Last Updated: August 22, 2012
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LOVE SONNETS ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by David Schwan
+
+
+
+
+
+
+THE LOVE SONNETS OF A CAR CONDUCTOR
+
+By Wallace Irwin
+
+  Author of
+  The Love Sonnets of a Hoodlum
+  The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam, Junior
+  Etc.
+
+
+
+  With a harmless and instructive Introduction
+  by
+  Wolfgang Copernicus Addleburger
+
+  Professor of Literary Bi-Products
+  University of Monte Carlo
+
+
+Paul Elder & Company
+
+San Francisco and New York
+
+  Muse of my native land,
+  am I inspir'd?
+  --Keats.
+
+
+
+Copyright, 1908
+
+by Paul Elder and Company
+
+
+
+
+INTRODUCTION
+
+
+Science may conquer the stars, but it does nothing by jumps. As a
+Scientist, as well as a philosopher, I am accustomed to reaching the
+Transcendental by winding paths. It is characteristic of me that I
+should have consented to preface this remarkable Sonnet Cycle only after
+supreme deliberation, and that I should at last have determined to speak
+in behalf of the Car Conductor for the following reasons:
+
+1. As a Botanist I am fascinated by the phenomenon of Genius flourishing
+from bud to flower, from flower to seed.
+
+2. As a Psychologist I am anxious to establish once and for all, both by
+plano-inductive and precoordinate systems of logic, the Status of Slang.
+
+What position does Slang occupy in the thought of the world? Let us turn
+to Zoology for an answer.
+
+No traces of Slang may be found among mollusks, crustaceans or the lower
+invertebrates. Slang is not common to vertebrate fishes or to whales,
+seals, reptiles or anthropoid apes--in a word, slang-speaking is
+nowhere prevalent among lower animals. It may, then, be definitely and
+clearly asserted that Slang is the natural, logical expression of the
+Human Race. If Man, then, is the highest of created mammals, is not his
+natural speech (Slang) the highest of created languages? It is generally
+conceded that Literature is the most exalted expression of Language.
+Would not the Literature, then, which employs the highest of created
+languages (Slang) be the supreme Literature of the world?
+
+By such logical, irrefutable, inductive steps have I proven not only the
+Status of Slang, but the literary importance of these Sonnets which it
+is at once my scientific duty and my esthetic pleasure to introduce.
+
+The twenty-six exquisite Sonnets which form this Cycle were written,
+probably, during the years 1906 and 1907. Their author was William Henry
+Smith, a car conductor, who penned his passion, from time to time, on
+the back of transfer-slips which he treasured carefully in his hat (1).
+We have it from no less an authority than Professor Sznuysko that the
+Car Conductor usually performed these literary feats in public, writing
+between fares on the rear platform of a Sixth Avenue car. Smith's
+devotion to his Musa Sanctissima was often so hypnotic, I am told, that
+he neglected to let passengers on and off--nay, it is even held by some
+critics that he occasionally forgot to collect a fare. But be it said to
+his undying honor that his Employers never suffered from such
+carelessness, for it was the custom of our Poet to demand double fares
+from the old, the feeble and the mentally deficient.
+
+Even as the illimitable ichor of star-dust, the mysterious Demiurge of
+the Universe, keeps the suns and planets to their orbitary revolutions,
+so must environment mark the Fas and Nefas of Genius. Plato's Idea of
+the Archetypal Man was due, perhaps, as much to the serene weather
+conditions of Academe as to the marvelous mentality of Plato. What had
+Job eaten for breakfast that he should have given utterance to his
+magnificent Lamentation? Was he the discoverer of Human Sorrow or the
+pioneer of Human Dyspepsia?
+
+It is not altogether radical on my part, then, for me to assert that
+many of the stylistic peculiarities found in these Sonnets are
+attributable to the locale of their inspiration the rear platform of a
+Sixth Avenue car. One can plainly hear the jar and jounce of the
+elliptical wheels, the cry, "Step lively!" the six o'clock stampede, the
+lament of the strap-hanging multitude in such lines as these:
+
+     "Three days with sad skidoo have came and went,
+     Yet Pansy cometh nix to ride with me.
+     I rubber vainly at the throng to see
+     Her golden locks--gee! such a discontent!
+     Perhaps she's beat it with some soapy gent--"
+
+Where are lines like these to be found in the Italian of Petrarch? Where
+has Tasso uttered an impassioned confession to resemble this:
+
+     "But when I ogle Pansy in the throng
+     My heart turns over twice and rings a gong"?
+
+Of the human or personal record of William Henry Smith very little has
+been discovered. Looking over the books of the Metropolitan Street
+Railway I unearthed the following entry:
+
+"Nov. 1, 1907:"
+
+"W. H. Smith, conductor, discharged."
+
+"Remarks:--Car No. 21144, William Smith, conductor, ran into large
+brewery truck at So. E. cor. Sixth Ave. It is reported that Smith, to
+the neglect of his duty, was reading poetry from a book called 'Sonnets
+of de Heredia' at the time of the accident. Three Italians were slightly
+injured by the accident, and Ethelbert Pangwyn, an actor starring in
+'The Girl and the Idiot,' a musical comedy, was killed."
+
+"Smith was held for manslaughter, but Judge O' Rafferty, who had seen
+'The Girl and the Idiot,' discharged the defendant, averring that the
+killing of Pangwyn did not constitute a crime."
+
+What, then, has become of this minstrel who sang the Minnelieder of the
+Car-barns? Like Homer, like Omar, like Sappho, like Shakespeare, he is a
+Voice singing out of the mists. He was but a Name to his employers; and
+his friends, if he has friends, remember him not. These Sonnets, written
+neatly on twenty-six violet transfer-slips, were discovered, together
+with a rejection blank from a leading magazine, in the Dead Letter
+office. According to the current folk-lore in Harlem and the Bronx,
+Smith is now living in California employed as a brakeman on the Southern
+Pacific Railroad. Some aver that Pansy fell heiress to a sausage
+establishment and moved to Italy with her Poet. Still others maintain
+that Pansy, Gill the Grip and Maxy the Firebug never existed in real
+life--were merely the mind-children of a Symbolist and a dreamer of
+dreams.
+
+To the latter theory I incline at a scholarly angle. This Cycle may be
+taken, perhaps, not so much as a living record of human experience as a
+lofty parable sounding the key-note of all human life. Gill the Grip is
+the Iago, the Mefistofele, the symbolism of a malevolent destiny. Maxy
+the Firebug may be the Poet's interpretation of the Social Unrest, of
+Doubt, of progressive irresponsibility. Would it be going too far, then,
+to say that Pansy stands to us as the symbol of Pan-girlism--as an
+almost Anacreontic yearning for the type? Or may not these Sonnets be
+taken, in a way, as a modern Vita Nuova wherein a Sixth Avenue Alighieri
+calls to his Beatrice and mourns within when,
+
+"Pansy-girl refuses to occur?"
+
+So much for the Poet and his Purpose. Should any one of the readers of
+this Cycle doubt the enduring greatness of the lines, let him consider
+that I, Wolfgang Copernicus Addleburger, have seen fit to introduce them
+to immortality.
+
+
+     (1) Since the salary-books of the Metropolitan Street
+     Railways show, during the year 1906, 182 conductors named
+     Smith in their employ, 38 of whom were named William Smith
+     and 12 William Henry Smith, it is easy for the reader to
+     conceive my task in establishing the identity of our Poet.
+     W. C. A.
+
+
+
+
+
+THE LOVE SONNETS OF A CAR CONDUCTOR
+
+
+
+
+PROLOGUE
+
+
+     Did some one ask if I am on the job?
+     I sure am to the pay-roll with my lay,
+     A hot tabasco-poultice which will stay
+     Close to the ribs and answer throb-to-throb.
+     Here have I chewed my Music from the cob
+     And followed Passion from the get-away
+     Past the big Grand Stand where the Pousse-Cafe
+     Christens my Muse as Jennie-on-the-Daub.
+
+     Hark ye, all marks who break the Pure Fool Law,
+     How I, the Windy Wonder of the Age,
+     Have fought the Tender Passion to a draw
+     And got my mug upon the Sporting Page,
+     Since Love and I collided at the curve
+     And left me with a Dislocated Nerve.
+
+
+
+
+I
+
+
+
+     Am I in bad? upon the tick of nine
+     Today the Pansy got aboard my ship
+     And sprung the Trans-Suburban for a trip.
+     Say, she's the shapely ticket pretty fine!
+     Next to her pattern Anna Held looks shine
+     And Lilly Russell doesn't know the grip.
+     But oh! she's got a deep ingrowing tip
+     That she must shy at honks like yours and mine.
+
+     I says to her, "Fare, please!" out loud like that,
+     But she pipes, "Fade, Bill, fade! you pinched my fare."
+     That get-back tripped your Oswald to the mat,
+     And yet I yelled, "Cough up here, Golden Hair!"
+     Eh, what? I got the zing from Pansy's orb
+     Which says, "Dry out now, Shorty,--please absorb!"
+
+
+
+
+II
+
+
+
+     A True McGlook once handed this to me:
+     When little Bright Eyes cuts the cake for you
+     Count twenty ere you eat the honey-goo
+     Which leads to love and matrimony--see?
+     A small-change bunk what's bats on spending free
+     Can't four-flush when he's paying rent for two.
+     The pin to flash on Cupid is 'Skidoo!'
+     The call for Sweet Sixteen is "23."
+
+     But say! Life looks goshawful on the stretch
+     Without a Ray of Sunshine in my flat,
+     With no one there to call me "Handsome wretch,"
+     And dust the fuzz and mildew off my hat.
+     If she was waiting at the church tonight
+     You'd find me there with wedding-bells all right!
+
+
+
+
+III
+
+
+
+     Pansy got on at Sixteenth Street last night,
+     And some one flipped a handspring in my heart.
+     She snickered once, "Oh look, here's Mr. Smart!"
+     Was I there Henry Miller? guess you're right!
+     I did the homerun monologue as bright
+     As any scrub that ever learned the art.
+     I plum forgot the signals, "Stop" and "Start!"
+     And almost wrecked the car once--guess I might!
+
+     I took one Mike six blocks beyond the place
+     He flagged for his. He got as red as ham
+     And yodelled through his apopleptic face,
+     "I think you're dips!" I says, "I know I am--"
+     When Pansy starts to send a wireless wave
+     She simply just can't make her eyes behave!
+
+
+
+
+IV
+
+
+
+     On every car there's always one fat coot
+     What goes to sleep and dreams he's paid his fare.
+     And when you squeak he gets the Roosevelt glare,
+     And hoots, "I won't be dickied with--I'll shoot!"
+     Then all the passengers get in and root.
+     Loud cheers of, "Put him off!" and "Make him square!"
+     Till Mr. Holdfast with an injured air
+     Pungles his nick and ends the bum dispute.
+
+     It's ever thus on this here rolling ball--
+     You've got to pop your coin to ride so far.
+     The yap that kicks and rings a deadhead call
+     Must either spend or else get off the car.
+     On Life's Street Railway wealth may cut the cheese,
+     But Death rings up and says, "Step lively, please!"
+
+
+
+
+V
+
+
+
+     "There'll be some fancy steps at Car-Barn Hall,"
+     Gilly the Gripman pipes me off today,
+     "This won't be any gabberfest--for say!
+     Nix but the candy goes to this here ball.
+     You've got to flash your union card, that's all,
+     To circulate the maze with Tessie May,
+     And all the Newport push out Harlem way
+     Will slip on wax till sunrise,--do you call?"
+
+     I told him that I pulled the gong for that!
+     If Pansy would be there 'twas was Me for It.
+     I'd burnish up my buttons, mop my hat,
+     Polish my pumps and blow in for a hit.
+     "All to the Fritz," says Gill, "if you get jolly
+     Around the curves--you're apt to slip your trolley!"
+
+
+
+
+VI
+
+
+
+     The lemon-wagon rumbled by today
+     And dropped me off a sour one--are you on?
+     I went and gave the boss a cooney con
+     About the Car-Barn Kick--what did he say?
+     "Back to your platform, Clarence light and gay,
+     Jingle the jocund fares, nor think upon
+     The larks of Harry Lehr or Bath House John,
+     For they are It and you are still on pay."
+
+     So I have been sky-prancing all night long
+     A-dragging car-conductors and their queens
+     Clad in their laughing-robes to join the throng
+     That makes the Car-Barn function all the beans.
+     And say! I had a brainstorm just last trip
+     When I took Pansy's fare from Gill the Grip.
+
+
+
+
+VII
+
+
+
+     At Midnight when I got a gasp for lunch
+     I mushed it for the Car-Barns just to lamp
+     And see the Creamy Charlies do the vamp
+     And swing their Fancy Floras in the crunch.
+     I piped my Pansy in among the bunch
+     And asked her would she mix it with the Champ,
+     Wouldn't she like to join me in a stamp?
+     She saw me first and stopped me with a punch.
+
+     I saw her hook a loop with Gill the Grip,
+     With Pinky Smith and Handsome Hank she heeled;
+     With all the dossy bunks she took a skip
+     Each time the German tune-professor spieled.
+     But nix with me the lightsome toe she sprung--
+     As Caesar said to Cassius, "Ouch! I'm stung!"
+
+
+
+
+VIII
+
+
+
+     Forsooth that was a passing lusty clout
+     That chopped me off with Pansy--don't you fret!
+     There's quite a blaze inside my garret yet,
+     And all the Dipper Corps can't put it out.
+     Gilly the Grip's a pretty ricky tout--
+     Under the old rag-rug for him, you bet,
+     When I put on my Navajo and get
+     One license to unloose my soul and shout.
+
+     Perhaps he thinks I'm old Molasses Freight
+     Sidetracked at Pokey Pond and filled with prunes
+     Waiting for Congress to appropriate
+     The nuggets draped around me in festoons.
+     Wait till I ticket Pansy, then I guess
+     Slow Freight will switch to Honeymoon Express!
+
+
+
+
+IX
+
+
+
+     Today I gave a serenade to Gill;
+     I says, "To put it pleasant you're a screech,
+     Your smile would shoo the seagulls off the beach,
+     Your face would give Vesuvius a chill.
+     You're just what Mr. Shakespeare calls 'a pill
+     Trying to keep company with a peach.'
+     Now, if you want to answer with a speech,
+     Open your trap at once, or else lie still."
+
+     But when I handed Gill the Grip this cluster
+     He simply clamped his language-mill down tight,
+     Strangled his guff and acted rather fluster
+     Although I'm sure I spoke to him polite.
+     I guess that Mr. Gilly ain't the kind
+     That understands when people talk refined.
+
+
+
+
+X
+
+
+
+     Three days with sad skidoo have came and went,
+     Yet Pansy cometh nix to ride with me.
+     I rubber vainly at the throng to see
+     Her golden locks--gee! such a discontent!
+     Perhaps she's beat it with some soapy gent--
+     Perhaps she's promised Gill the Grip to be
+     His No. 1 till Death tolls "23!"
+     While I am Outsky in the supplement.
+
+     Now and anon some Lizzie flags the train
+     And I, poor dots, cry, "Rapture, it is her!"
+     Yet guess again--my hope is all in vain
+     And Pansy girl refuses to occur.
+     If this keeps up I think I'll finish swell
+     Among the jabbers in a padded cell.
+
+
+
+
+XI
+
+
+
+     My Trolley hikes to Harlem p.d.q.,
+     And picks up pikers all along the beat.
+     At six o'clock the aisles are full of feet,
+     The straps with fingers, and the entire zoo
+     Boils on the platform with a mad huroo
+     Reckless as Bronx mosquitoes after meat.
+     The widow stands, the fat man gets the seat
+     And Satan smiles like Foxy M. Depew.
+
+     And as we hikes along I thinks, thinks I,
+     "The human race is like the ocean foam,
+     Roaring and discontented, peevish, fly--"
+     Say, why in blazes don't they stay to home?
+     This travel-sickness is a danger which
+     Keeps hoboes poor and corporations rich.
+
+
+
+
+XII
+
+
+
+     Today I piped my future Ma-in-law.
+     She got aboard my Pullman and she scared
+     Three babies into fits the way she glared.
+     Rattle my baggage if I ever saw
+     A cracker-box to equal Mother's jaw,
+     A hardwood-finish face all nailed and squared.
+     She ossified the gripman when she stared--
+     And me? Well, I was overcame with awe.
+
+     But, being Pansy's Ma, 't was up to me
+     To hand her something pit-a-pat and swell,
+     And so I says, "Hello, Queen Cherokee!
+     What ho! for Pansy? hope she's feeling well."
+     And Ma responds, a trifle tart but game,
+     "She minds her bizness--hope you feel the same."
+
+
+
+
+XIII
+
+
+
+     I don't think Mother chalked me out to win,
+     To be the steady of her darling child.
+     She thinks I am a kick-up, something wild,
+     And no sweet girl should wear my college pin.
+     She thinks I'm some too piffly with my chin
+     And my soft prattle simply gets her riled.
+     I've lost my keys with her, to put it mild,
+     I don't belong, because I am not In.
+
+     Say how, with such an iceberg on the track,
+     Can I conduct my car to married bliss?
+     I hoped that I could whistle Pansy back,
+     And lo! I got a frostbite off of this!
+     I'd wrastle Death for Her, I'd fight her Pa,--
+     But stab me if I'll syrup to her Ma!
+
+
+
+
+XIV
+
+
+
+     E'en as I stood with cobwebs in my tower
+     A candy vision came and flagged the boat--
+     Give forty rah-rah-rahs! O joy, O gloat!
+     'Twas Pansy like a fairy in a bower
+     Warbling, "Hi, stop the car!" With all my power
+     I yanked the bell. My brain was all afloat,
+     My heart cut pin-wheels, stole a base at throat,
+     Sang "Tammany"--and knighthood was in flower.
+
+     I helped her on. My shoes were full of feet.
+     I says, "How's Ma?" She answers, "Going some."
+     I doffed my lid and ventured to repeat
+     The breeze had put the weather on the bum.
+     Then she replied, not seeming sore or vexed,
+     "It may not be so punk on Sunday next."
+
+
+
+
+XV
+
+
+
+     The Sinful Rich go whizzing by all day
+     In wealthy wagons, looking pert and swell;
+     They get the ride, the Commons get the smell
+     And full of thought and microbes wend their way.
+     Maxy the Firebug says that Mammon's sway
+     Is stringing Virtue to a fare-ye-well,
+     But wait, he says, till Labor with a yell
+     Soaks Mam a crack forninst the vertebray.
+
+     The Rich, says Max, are simply dips and yeggs
+     That lift the headlight beads from yaps like us;
+     They pinch your pie, sew up our ham and eggs
+     And leave us minus all that they are plus.
+     The world, says Max, belongs to me and Bill
+     And Mrs. Casey--whoa! let's roll a pill!
+
+
+
+
+XVI
+
+
+
+     At Mrs. Casey's hunger-killing shop
+     Whither I hie thrice daily for my stew,
+     I dream I'm Mr. Waldorf as I chew
+     My prunes or lay my Boston-baked on top.
+     Growley and sinkers, slum and mutton sop,
+     India-rubber jelly known as "glue,"
+     A soup-bone goulash with a spud or two,
+     Clatter below until I signal "Stop!"
+
+     There may be chefs in France or Albany
+     Can knock a poem from a wedge of pie;
+     But just give me a check on Mrs. C.,
+     For rapid-filling ballast, murmurs I.
+     Kings may prefer some tasty wads of hash,
+     But they don't feed at fifteen cents per crash!
+
+
+
+
+XVII
+
+
+
+     Pansy and me for Coney Sunday noon
+     To see a perfect lady bump the bumps;
+     We rubbered at the lions with the chumps
+     And took the Wellman special to the moon.
+     She asks me, "Dance?" I answers, "Just as soon,"
+     And so we clutched and whirled into the gumps,
+     But every time I went to stir my stumps
+     They stuck like gum-drops to a macaroon.
+
+     "I could die dancing, Danny!" murmurs she.
+     (I gambolled on her corns, she hollered, "Don't!")
+     "I could die dancing also" (this from me),
+     "But if you'll pass me up, I guess I won't."
+     Just then some lemon-sport observed my glide
+     And warbled, "Slide, you frozen chicken, slide!"
+
+
+
+
+XVIII
+
+
+
+     I next sprung Pansy for a four-bit feed--
+     It was a giddy tax, but what care I?
+     We shot the bill-of-fare from soup to pie
+     And lemonade (that cost an extra seed).
+     "You're the cute plunge," says Pans', and I agreed
+     That at a spenderfest I wasn't shy,--
+     That when it came to rolling nickels by,
+     Willie the Cowboy was a perfect bleed.
+
+     She said that Thomas Lawson on a lark
+     Would faint away to see the way I blew;
+     She said I'd be the whizz in Central Park,
+     And Ready Cash to me seemed very few.
+     I asked her, Did she need a Valentine?
+     And she responded, "You're the pink for mine!"
+
+
+
+
+XIX
+
+
+
+     We took the iron-clad wave-tub home at ten,
+     And as we sat conversing on the deck
+     A certain Hester-street spaghetti-neck
+     Pipes through the darkness, "Who's yer ladyfren'?"
+     There might have been a hoe-down there and then
+     (That war-ship never came so near a wreck);
+     The dog-eye boy got just as pale as heck
+     And made a duck behind the trenches, when--
+
+     Pansy boiled up and clamped me by a flip.
+     "Nixie the kindergarten!" murmurs she.
+     "Gents," I replied out loud, "Get off the ship
+     And walk, or else nail down that repartee.
+     This yard of lace I'm holding, so to speak,
+     Is pinned on tight--or will be in a week."
+
+
+
+
+XX
+
+
+
+     A-lopping on a car-barn bench I spied
+     Gilly the Grip, quite recent this p.m.,
+     Just like a lily on a broken stem
+     Or like a Salt Lake buck without a bride.
+     "Chirk, Gilly, chirk!" I says in tones of pride,
+     "Perhaps this unhinged heart is just pro tem.
+     The world is full of pompadours for them
+     That keep their search-lights peeled from side to side."
+
+     But Gill remarked, "Eh, what? Say, I'm so slow
+     I couldn't catch the hour-hand on a clock.
+     I'm simply stationary as they grow;.
+     A lamp-post race could beat me round the block.
+     You needn't think you're such an Alfred G.,
+     To motor by a quarry-cart like me!"
+
+
+
+
+XXI
+
+
+
+     Next week the wedding-bells won't do a thing,
+     For I'll be there, I guess, to fill the set,
+     And Pansy's Ma, she won't be late, you bet,
+     To see the Reverend Mr. pull the string.
+     Me for a spike-tailed scabbard and a ring,
+     A shell-back shirt, forsooth a peacherette.
+     I'll be the daintiest bridegroom ever yet;
+     Nothing to do but take the count, then--bing!
+
+     Love in a cottage run on union pay--
+     Can Teddy Roosevelt do a sum like that?
+     Two can eat cheap as one, perhaps, but say,
+     You've got to beat a quarter pretty flat
+     To cork three squares, make Little Two Shoes snug
+     And keep the Wolf from chewing up the rug.
+
+
+
+
+XXII
+
+
+
+     Methinks I'm tagged to join the Worry Club,
+     To chase the fleeting rhino through the gloom,
+     To bag the boodle, trap the wild mazume
+     And scratch for corn when Pansy hollers "Grub!"
+     They say I'll turn as sickly as a chub
+     When on the First, with dull and deadly boom,
+     The Rent comes round and walks into the room,
+     Remarking, "Peel or else file out, you scrub!"
+
+     But when your arms are full of girl and fluff
+     You hide your nerve behind a yard of grin;
+     You'd spit into a wild cat's face or bluff
+     A flock of dragons with a safety pin.
+     Life's a slow skate, but Love's the dopey gum
+     That puts a brewery horse in racing trim.
+
+
+
+
+EPILOGUE
+
+
+
+     Kind reader, when you 'phone don't ask for me
+     Enquiring how a Flossie should be won--
+     There isn't any Rule Book, are you on?
+     And Queenie can't be coaxed by recipee.
+     Some girls like hard-luck music, minor key,
+     Some like the Gas-car Gussie act, hot ton,
+     Others are simply fierce for Jolly John
+     Who loves to make a noise like repartee.
+
+     None but the Nerve, say I, deserves the Fair,
+     And stony hearts can't  stand up long to chin.
+     If Willie-on-the-doormat lingers there
+     The chances are he'll be Invited In.
+     Up against Love the Candy Kid is nix;
+     The Porous Plaster wins because it sticks
+
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Love Sonnets of a Car Conductor, by
+Wallace Irwin
+
+*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LOVE SONNETS ***
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