Evening times-Republican. [volume] (Marshalltown, Iowa) 1890-1923, 1903-03-23

Teller that kin write poetry an that
Mary Jane Bowles is the only gal that
kin have poetry writ about er."
Jim Tom laughed lightly and care
lessly, and there was something like
derision in his voice and manner. For
two years he had been what might be
termed the poet laureate OF Postum
Ridge-in fact, he was, in his own hon.
est estimation, the only real poet Pos
sum Ridge had ever had the proud hon
or of producing. OF course there were
others who tried to write poetry, per-
sons who threw together meaningless.
sentimentless lines; but Jim knew that
they were not poets. They were only
base imitators who sprang up in his
wake, as they always spring up in the
wake of a real genius.
In a thoughtless and unguarded mo-
ment the editor of the Postum Ridge
Wriggler had on one occasion accepted
one of Jim Toms poems and, totally
unmindful of Jim Toms future happi-
ness and the welfare of the public, had
published it. From that day Jim Tom
had felt that he was man apart from
and far above the common human
clods about him and that there was q
higher and broader life into which it
was not only his privilege but his duty
to soar. He felt that blowing corn and
hoeing potatoes were not vocations mt
ting an intellect such as his, SO he re-
Taxed his efforts in that direction and
devoted himself largely to the cultlva-
ton of rhymes.
Other people, seeing Jim Toms poem
in the Wriggler and encouraged by his
glittering success, threw down the plow
and the hoe and took up the pen. The
result was there were more weeds and
RHYMES and less corn and potatoes
raised on Postum Ridge that year than
ever within the memory of the Oldest
inhabitant.
But to return to the lovers by the
creek side.
Isl reckon, then" Jim Tom said pres
entity, bob Hanks has been writin'
poetry bout you!"
Susan Ann tossed her head slightly.
"Mebby he has," she replied, AN
mebby he hain't. Guess hit hain't no
body's business nohow."
"Mebby hit hain't yet I'd jest lack to
see what sort o. poetry Bob 'u'd git up.
Bet hit must be greet truck"
"Guess hits jest bout as greet as the
poetry what's writ by some folks what
thinks they's so misuhble smart"
"Meanin' me, reckon?"
anybody the shoe fits kin wear hit"
"Jest so. I'd love to see the poetry
Bob writ, though. Bet you dasn't show
hit to me-"
"Bet dast if wanted to-"
'Bet you plumb 'shamed o hit"
"Bet Amt nuther."
'Let me see hit, them
'Don't hat to-
"Don't b'lieve hit less see hit"
sThen see hit eff you jest plumb boun'
to-" she said, taking scrap OF paper
from her bosom and handing 1t to him.
He took the paper and studied over 1T
long time. Finally he managed to
make out all that was written on it.
Then he burst into peal Of loud
laughter.
Her face famed with anger. and she
gave him look full Of scorn.
What you laughin' bout now, big
gity?" she demanded. Reckon you
think you pow'ful smart"
"Oh, SIGH stuff, sich stuff" ne cried.
II never see nothin' like hit, an l don't
blame you fer bein' shamed to show
hit"
81 want 'shamed to show hit. Hits
better l,oetry'n you kin write anyhow"
ooh, Lordy, sich stuff! Jest a-listen
here:
"Honey's sweet.
Hog meats greasy.
] love you,
An I'd like to squeeze you.
'Lord, do you call that shore 'nough
poetry?'
Goose do. Guess you would, too, eft
youwan't too jealous
"Humph! You must be pow'ful easy
pleased Eff l couldn't write nothin
better'n that fer the gal love, l
wouldn't write nothin' er tall. Hits
scan'lous stuff, shore"
ooh, do you think so, Jim Tom? MeD-
hy eff hits 80 musuhble po' you kin tell