The Evening statesman. [volume] (Walla Walla, Wash.) 1903-1910, 1905-07-28
Jlmuleboy In Tustland
By JOHN KENDRICK BANGS
The Tom-Tom Of Boston.

that was really what the Tom-Tom
was, although in real war, in which
blood instead of ink is shed, he would
have been called a Filibuster because
of his love of busting, just as Phil
anthropist is so called because OF ms
love of anthropy, was one of the most
impressive figures Jimmieboy had ever
seen. His wonderful brass front gilt
tered in the sunlight of Aqua Avenue
like great golden heliograph, and he
sat his horse as proudly as though he
had already been cast in, instead of
out of, solid copper and had been set
up in the market place as sort OF
cominentum and hominen, as the dead
linguists used to say, or, as we nave
it in their own vernacular, dreadfui
example. Then the brass band by
wonderfully long winded aggregation
of selected tooters who sounded alar-
ums constantly and in the Intervals
played such appropriate airs as
| johnnie, Get Your Cum Little Sal
lie Waters and an arrangement for
the bass drum and tuba of Tennyson'
exquisite lies, You Must Wake and
Call Me Oily, Mother Every once
and awhile the aggregation would stop
for a moment and the Tom-Tom,
striking an attitude like that of Ma
poleon, with one hand behind his back
and the other clutching his pocket
book in his chest pocket, would ad-
lress his followers in such thunderous
| tones that-Jimmieboy could almost
feel Trustland shake with the rebera-
| lions of his eloquence.
1t was after one of these oratOrlcal
| outbursts that the Tom Tom caught
sight of Jimmieboy. who, having moth
ing whatever to fear from the doughty
Buster, had emerged from his hiding
place and climbed up to the crossplece
of a neighboring lamp post to get
better view of this spectacle.
All" said the Tom-Tom, falling in
| to pure Bostonese for the moment,
whom have we nere?'
I'm Jimmieboy' replied Jimmiboy.
from his lofty perch. Il am writing a
| composition upon the beautiful charl-
ties of Trustland to read to my Uncle
Sam when l get home and, of course,
| in order to do the thing properly l
have come here to get the facts
THE story of your life is very inter-
esting as far as it goes, young man.
said the Tom-TOm when Jimmieboy
mad finished, but you are too brief.
| If you mad put that explanation into
about $1,000 words it would easily have
run six months in a magazine
You're very kind said Jimmieboy.
I'm sure I'd like nothing better than
to take few lessons in the gentle art
| of padding from so competent mas
ter as yourself. But wont you tell me
something of your own life and mis-
sion here?"
Certainly" replied the Tom-Tom
amiably. TT is always a great pleas
ure to me to talk of myself. Through
| long experience I have become an ex-
| pert at it, and shall be glad to &C
commodate you."
| And then, to the accompaniment of
a penny whistle and a bass drum, the
Tom-Tom sang the following auto
biographical song to the listening visi-
| tor.
In me
You see
Bom-BOm, Bonn BON,
The Bostonee
Tom.
| My food and drink
Are pen and ink,
And every month my name is seen,
Both fore and aft, in the magazine
| That's owned by Mr.. Everybody,
| The foe to everything that's shoddy
But me,
Bom-B Bonn,
The Bostonee,
TOm-TOm
Oh, can write
BY day and night,
TootToot,
HoOt-tOOt!
And never say
Or give away
A thing,
Ding-ding.
I write of H. H. H. Dogers,
And various other oily dodgers,
And Jim and John, and Mister Ad-
dicks
The masculines of Missus Chadicks-
And all the other Trustland gang,
Who rule the land with a bling, bang,
bang
Hoot-toot,
-tOOt!
That's me,
BOm-Bo
The Bostonee,
TOm-Tom.
I'm not afraid the high to strike,
Or hit whatever heads I like,
Bonn Bonn,
HOOt-tOOt!
1 know the Trusts and they know me,
But Trusts can't write, so, don't you
see,
I've got the bulge immortalie
On them?
| Bim-bem!
And when I'm through with Standard
Oil,
All that you'll see above the soil,
| Hoot-tOO,
loot tOOt!
Will be one tiny spot of grease,
And that pursued by the police,
! And me,
| BOmBOm,
The Bostonee,
TOm-Tom
do you want any more?" asked the
| ~, -;