THE SHOCK.
(From "The Revery of an Umpire," with apologies to Ben King's "Ghost.")
If I should die to-night,
And as with folded arms in death I lay,
Arrayed in shrouds of linen pure and white,
Some rooter should bend over me and say,
"Old boy, I'm sorry that you're down and out;
I hope you'll get to heaven, for you're square;
I've seen you umpire many a hard-fought bout
Without one bum decision, I can swear—"
And as with folded arms in death I lay,
Arrayed in shrouds of linen pure and white,
Some rooter should bend over me and say,
"Old boy, I'm sorry that you're down and out;
I hope you'll get to heaven, for you're square;
I've seen you umpire many a hard-fought bout
Without one bum decision, I can swear—"
If he said that,
Although my soul was even then a spook,
I'd rise at once in my large, white cravat,
To get one look at him, one final look;
I'd make him pass me out that dope once more,
The same quaint words that he had used before.
Yes, I'd rise up till he was done, and then—
I'd drop back dead again.
Although my soul was even then a spook,
I'd rise at once in my large, white cravat,
To get one look at him, one final look;
I'd make him pass me out that dope once more,
The same quaint words that he had used before.
Yes, I'd rise up till he was done, and then—
I'd drop back dead again.