Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1901-03-16
SPRING POEMS BELOW PAR

The tall, cadaverous man In the seedy
black clothes and with the suspfcious-fook-
ing roll under his arm coughed HOLLOWAY
as he pushed his lank form past the boy
at the door. and entered the editorial sane
tum.
I have here" he began In sepulchral
tone, "a SPRING
"Have. hey?" interrupted the editor. puff
fng away at his corncob and not so much
as looking up from his desk. well, we
can't handle it. Stopped using verse alto
gether'
But" remarked the cadaverous visitor,
this is a spring.
at don't make any difference to me
whether it's written by Kipling or Tim
Sullivan or Terry McGOvern or Edward the
Seventh" cut in the editor. Were not
poetry. Try the low. loathed rag across
the street. It's liable to use any old thing"
The lank man again coughed hollowly
and stood silent for moment.
out, sir" he resumed, IF I could but
engage your attention for a moment. I
should like to show you spring"
Now, look a-here," said the proprietor
of the sanctum, at last looking up. 'it' s
perfectly foolish for you to talk about en-
gaging my attention for moment or any
intinitesimal fraction of moment for the
purpose of showing me any kind of spring
poetry whatsoever, If it's the springiest
paniment made by the music of the GRO
cuses popping out of the ground and the
buds bursting in the leafy boughs, 1t won't
do here. Spring poetryS all right In its
place, but this isn't the place. I can my
self stand spring poetry of some brands
when I'm sufficiently suffused and warmed
up to 1t by copious fiagons of the seasonal
BILE draught known as book, but I'm here
to consider our readers, and they won't
stand for any kind or species Of spring
poetry. whatsoever They're a grabbed.
n mil Ipd Lot
couldn't soften EN- up wiz. a sand blast.
They'd rather read about the probable
makeup Of the new local nine any day in
the week than be given spring poetry by
the shovelful, no matter if Swinburne and
all the rest of the toppy crowd were to
collaborate ON the same, and so what's the
But, my dear sir" the cadaverous man
at length contrived to say. this is not the
kind of spring"
Its all the same, my dear man. all the
same, Is spring poetry, and wish you'd go
away and let me do my work, said the
owner of the sanctum I'm going to fire
that boy for letting you in against orders,
anyhow. don't care If your spring poem
Is calculated to just mop up the earth with
all the spring poetry that ever happened
before, you might just as well try TO sell
It to hardware shop or a paving contrac-
tor as work it off on u.s. We don't use 1t
any more than we use lyddite in our bust
ness. Can't I get you to see that? You
might just as well try to sell me or to
give me, for that matter. cabinet vapor
bath as to sell me or give me spring
poem You might just as we'll
There was a sudden snap, followed by a
buzzing, clicking sound that caused the
editor to break off and stare at the cadav-
erous man with open mouth. The cadavcr-
Gus man had undone that suspicious look-
Ing roll under his arm, and was exhibiting
its mechanism
LAS you perceive" he said, II have here
a spring pants presser that's warranted
to keep your pantaloons in their original
shape without pressing by means of irons
for as long as the material Of which they
are made holds together, and a little con-
trivance of this character, selling at the
trivial price of a quarter, is something
that
The cadaverous man made a sale and
the editor went ahead and wrote an edit
torial headed BE Sure You're Right and
Then CraWfish."