WHEN "WIFEY" READS DOPE.
Seated at the breakfast table on a sultry summer's day,
Mrs. Smith picked up the paper in a careless, idle way,
Threw her lamps on social items, noted quickly up and down
Names of lucky, favored people who had blown away from town
In this steamy August weather, till at last her restless glance
Fell upon the sporting section, and she lingered in a trance.
Mrs. Smith picked up the paper in a careless, idle way,
Threw her lamps on social items, noted quickly up and down
Names of lucky, favored people who had blown away from town
In this steamy August weather, till at last her restless glance
Fell upon the sporting section, and she lingered in a trance.
Mr. Smith was eating bacon—which the same, as you should know,
Is a widespread breakfast fodder anywhere you choose to go—
And his jaw was working deftly, like the handle of a pump,
When he heard an exclamation from his wife that made him jump.
"What's the matter?" he responded, with his appetite well sated.
"Why those frowns upon your forehead? Why those eyeballs so dilated?"
Is a widespread breakfast fodder anywhere you choose to go—
And his jaw was working deftly, like the handle of a pump,
When he heard an exclamation from his wife that made him jump.
"What's the matter?" he responded, with his appetite well sated.
"Why those frowns upon your forehead? Why those eyeballs so dilated?"
"Tell me this," she said and shuddered, "tell me what this means, I pray:
'Nothing but the gallant playing of Mike Johnson saved the day.
With the score tied in the seventh, and the combat gliding by,
Mike dashed out, and by fast sprinting swallowed Piggy Jones' long fly.'"
"Good for Mike," her husband answered. "He's the goods—I always knew it."
"Swallowed Jones's fly?" she murmured. "Tell me how the man could do it!"
'Nothing but the gallant playing of Mike Johnson saved the day.
With the score tied in the seventh, and the combat gliding by,
Mike dashed out, and by fast sprinting swallowed Piggy Jones' long fly.'"
"Good for Mike," her husband answered. "He's the goods—I always knew it."
"Swallowed Jones's fly?" she murmured. "Tell me how the man could do it!"
Then she read: "With mightly bludgeons in their mitts, the demon Sox
Hopped on Waddell in the pinches, hammered him out of the box,
Shot him full of poisoned arrows, drove him to the uncut woods,
Walloped all the wadding from him—for he didn't have the goods."
"This is awful," said she, frowning. "Why should he have drawn a beating?"
But her husband only snickered, and again turned to his eating.
Hopped on Waddell in the pinches, hammered him out of the box,
Shot him full of poisoned arrows, drove him to the uncut woods,
Walloped all the wadding from him—for he didn't have the goods."
"This is awful," said she, frowning. "Why should he have drawn a beating?"
But her husband only snickered, and again turned to his eating.
"Look at this," she stammered, paling: "'Hahn got bumped upon the bean;
Umpire Sheridan's decisions threw a smell like gasoline;
Jones was punctured in the lattice; Walsh's benders broke their backs—
For they couldn't even hit him with a shotgun or an ax.'
Baseball must be very wicked," said she with puzzled face.
"Yes, it's hell," her husband answered, "when your team ain't in the race."
Umpire Sheridan's decisions threw a smell like gasoline;
Jones was punctured in the lattice; Walsh's benders broke their backs—
For they couldn't even hit him with a shotgun or an ax.'
Baseball must be very wicked," said she with puzzled face.
"Yes, it's hell," her husband answered, "when your team ain't in the race."