The wageworker. (Lincoln, Neb.) 1904-????, 1905-06-16
THE POETRY OF PERCENT

DOuy eacn weekly OungStOwn AdvO-
cate.
THE POETRY OF PERCENT
(At the annual banquet of Groups
One and Two, Nebraska Bankers AS
sociation, DIR. P. L. Hall, POSTMASTER.
the following response was made to
the toast, 1.-THE Poetry of Percent")
Mr.. Toastmaster and Brother Bank
ers:-I am deeply grateful for an
opportunity to meet bankers in new
relation; to be able to transact bust
uess with you at a banquet board in
stead of a desk, and to be permitted
to say my say without prefacing it
with any hard luck story or roseate
dreams of what viii be able to make
if only 1 can have the favor of an
accommodation Indeed, my ex-
perience with bankers has heretofore
been characterized with a solemn
sameness that has become woefully
monotonous. The damnable reitera-
ton of the familiar phrase, Ninety
days after date I promise to pay"
etc., etc., has come to crate upon my
sensitive feelings, and 1 leave it to cny
fair-minded gentleman present-and
you are all fair-minded-if it is not
the sublimity of sarcasm on the part
of my good friend, DR.. Hall, to as
sign to me, who stands at the other
end of the percentage table from you,
the topic of "The Poetry of Percent"
There must certainly be some
poetry about percent, for poetry has
feet, and experience leads me to be-
lieve that percent must also have feet
for how else could the blamed thing
travel upward and onward so fast?
If ability to travel swiftly increases
in ratio with the number of feet pos
sessed by the traveller, then indeed
must percent be able to give thou
sand-legged worm cards and spades
and big casino.
Some things reminds us of other
things, because they are SO different.
Perhaps that is the reason that the
POSTMASTER happened to think of
poetry while thinking of banking. The
business world depends in vast meas
ure upon the banking business, but
sad and unlovely indeed would this
old world be were it not for the poets
of yesterday and today. Great as the
good may be that your profession has
conferred upon the world, leave it
to you if the immortal songs of the
greatest poet the world has ever
known, with their wealth of faith ind
hope and love and kindness have not
wrought greater blessings; for in the
unsurpassed songs of David the Min
strel boy we soar aloft on the wings
of the spirit, forgetting the world and
it's sordid cares, and get glimpse be-
yond the pearly gates where care
and sorrow are forgotten, and all is
joy and peace.
Speaking of Biblical characters re-
minds me of something. 1 never heard
of any poets being scourged from the
temple.
Two little girls, CHANGING to become
neighbors, began forming an acquain-
lance after the manner peculiar to
childhood.
my papa is a professional man"
boosted one.
Huh, my papa is professional
man, too,'' retorted the other.
well, what is your papa?"
"My papa is a banker. What is
your papa?"
my papa is a poet"
Huh" retorted the bankers. daugh-
ter, that amt a profession-it's a
disease
Poetry may be either sad or joyful
generally the former. NIt's usually
according to how the writer thereof
looks upon the world. If the world
looks right the poetry will usually lie
bright, and vice versa. At any rate
the poets intentions will be honor
able, however much we may depre
cate his efforts. 1t all depends upon
the point of view. l might be able
to find more poetry in percent if I
could only look at it from your view
point. There must, however, be some
poetry in percent, for doth not Byron
say
reed;
There's music in the gushing of a rill;
There's music in all things, if men
had ears;
Their earth is but an echo of the
spheres"
Perhaps l might catch more of the
poetry of percent if 1 could find an
advantageous spot upon which to
stand and strain my listening ears.
Just behind the bronzed barred and
Ornamented window is, / imagine, the
best vantage ground for that kind of
a concert.
But there is, my friends, poetry in
all that is honest and useful. There is
poetry in the lovelight that shines in
the eyes of those dear to us. There
is poetry in the sweat and toll that
produces tue daily bread for loved
ones. There i, poetry in every pro-
fession and pursuit that has for it's
ultimate aim and end something high
err and nobler than sordid selfishness.
There is poetry in everything about
us if only we attune our ears to hear
instead of stopping them up with the
cotton of indifference and bending our