The daily telegram. [volume] (Clarksburg, W. Va.) 1901-1926, 1904-06-27
"A Posf and
N Burgiar

- 49, ftAAAA@ .etAt ~ 10
away for 4 fortnight. AMI one night
heavy hand was laid on my shoulder
in q way 70 arouse me. opened my
eyes to blink aud wink at the light Of
. lamp close by. aud pretty soon made
out the face una figure Of a man bend.
ing over me. He was middle aged
man. not Mt al tough looking. ana If be
hadn't had pistol IN his hand should
have taken him for anything but
burglar.
Then you--you are a burglarg /
stammercd as / sat up and rubbed my
eyes.
Well. caIl 1t that he replied. with.
a smile. There are two charges here.
legally speaking brealing ana enter
Ing IN the nighttime and robbery from
a dwelling. That pretty nearly makes
me burglar. ] guess. Did you say
you'd lunch with me this evening? II
50, come along.A You had an empty pis-
tol under your pillow. but / removed 1t
before waking you up. Even an un-
loaded pistol las been known TO go off.
Are you coming:p
Like one Ia trance / got out OF bed
and dressed and then preceded him
downstairs and into the dining room,
where | found the table spread for
two. There were the remains of
cold ham, bread and butter, bottle of
wine, lumber of jelly, some cheese
and BIT of cake
At that halcyon period wrote poetry
"a good deal OF poetry. There We're
several OF my poems lying about the
library; and the robber gathered them
all up aud brought them to the table
and said:
Il used to be something of poet
myself till struck a better thing.
Here seems to be an ode TO somebody
named Maggie. Just read 1t, win youT
demurred and he insisted, and !
felt Ike a fool as began to read.
Maggie was a girl was somewhat
mashed on, and ! had written sixteen
verses on her hair, eyes, mouth, hands
and feet When l had finished the
first verse the robber laughed heartily
and said;
We'll, you are about the softest
thing of your age ever struck! You
speak of Maggie's golden locks. You
don't mean brick color, ehfp
Il mean what say" / replied, with
a show of dignity. aud then l laid
down the manuscript and told him
would not read another word Of II to
please him or any other robber living.
"Aly dear boy he said, with a grin
on his face, you come about as near
being an idiot asylum as anybody /
ever met. The idea OF grownnp man
with whiskers onhls chin writing such
twaddle us this. You'd better go out
and hoe cabbage at shilling day.
y haven't asked you for advice"
raped back.
But you need it-lots OF 1t. odes,
poems. idyls-y We godsl You sigh to
walk in the moonlight paths with the
idol of your heart. do youg Better sit
down in a comfortable room and eat
peanuts with her. You say the sun
goes down on your sorrowlng heart.
Are you ass enough TO think the sun,is
going TO change its routine on your ac-
count? Say. you amuse me haven't
met fool before for five years.
eff you We're not an armed robber do
you know what I'd dof' | shouted in
my indignation.
al can easily guess" he replied as he
choked back his laughter for u moment
III wasn't an armed rohber you'd
probably write poem about me, and
1t would be just as sickisl rs these
here. A poet in his little bed upstairs.
and he had his mouth wide open and
was snoring like horsei / come here
to rob, ! make a neat job Of effectlng
an entrance. get out all the solid sill
yer and make a tidy bundle 81 1t. do
the job In way to do honor TO my
profession. am all through when |
discover a pumpkin headed poet in bis
bed aud am made almost ashamed of
my work
"AIy son, really can't leave the
house without giving you some ad-
vice. It's no use TO grit your teeth and
look ugly over it, because you've got
TO take your medicine. In the first
place, you are rhymester instead of
a poet. There's no more poetry in
Your verses than there Is In that ham
bone.
'If Maggie is the girl take her to
be she'll never marry a rhymester. In