The Birmingham age-herald., 1923-03-19
The Woman in the Case

The Woman in the Case
 "There woman in the case,"
 The old man said, and down his face
 The gushing tears began to race
 Like streamlets on the lea.
 My life had been an endless song
 And I was going good and strong
 And then the woman came along
 And ruined me!
 "She was a queen, painted dame,
 And was young and played the game,
 And all my hopes went up in flame
 Amid the evening shades.
 A fortune stared me in the face
 And all I needed was an Ace
 drew the Woman in the case,
 The Queen of Spadesv
 Diplomatic circles are agitated over the report that Premier Lenine was stricken Monday morning. As a rule he is stricken only on Wednesdays and Saturdays
 One of the mysteries of archaeology is that Winsted, Conn.,, has not produced mummy older than King Tut.
 The Escanaba episode demonstrates that it is possible to get het up over bottle of water.
 Royalty still has strong hold on the an- cient peoples of Europe The king of Sweden, for example, is popular in spite of the fact that he is tennis addict In Which We Are Threatened With . Poem
 Dear Torch Bearer: Another red letter day-and many happy returns! It warmed the cookies of my heart when I saw my nomenclature-that is, my name-brought before the public so auspiciously. It made me chortle with delight and I've been living on my fame ever since. Believe me, in these days of high cost of bacon and flapiacks t helps considerably in whiting down the budget.
 When you and I were young there was a concise and epigrsmmatical statement that read thus: "Let George do it." Now, when it comes to shoveling walks ermined with snow or betting and feeding the little ol furnace, then I'm in favor or observing the maxim-but when it comes to writing pomes of this wonderful land overflowing with home brew and golden shekels-then crave that might bask in the limelght and that you retire into the background for whie what though some of your readers do turn green with envy!
 read in the papers that young John D. has paid one million bones for tapestry. have wondered ever since what would do with million. If I were female-that is, if belonged to the tenderer persuasion, as it werel would undoubtedly buy few glad rags and wear it (the million) out into the world to find a duke or an earl or bootlegger who, because of the glad rags, would make me his helpmeet. But can you conceive of real he-man spending his only million on a tapestry?-an old moth-eaten one at that?
 My thought on expending said million naturally took the poetic path and, grabbing my dog-eared old rhyming dictionary and taking my typewriter in my arms, I gave my thoughts expression in a transcendental, effusive effusion. It is now patented and insured and reposes in the coffers of a banking institution for safe keeping.
 If you desire to print it, wire at my ex- pense and will send it by registered mail, insured. And, if published, shall be able to live on fame for at least three months more. In that time I calculate to save enough on the bacon-and- -flapjack proposi- tion to purchase flivver
 Sending to Henry for his latest catalogue, and hoping to find you the same, remain, fraternally yours.-Patsy.