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Show (Copyright.) THE REASONS One time I met a chap who said I'd fall. Since then I've camped along ambition's trail With clenching lists and grating teeth, to show That chump there were some things he did not know. A lot of times, too, I met kindly folk Who said and made me think they did not joke-That joke-That I was destined for a better place Than then I held In life's uncertain race. For their dear sakes who thus believed in me I am compelled by gratitude to be All that I might have been upon this earth Had fortune smiled her sweetest at my birth. Now those two reasons, and some more that I Can't now recall, explain succlnctlv why I do the best I can to make success Of my small part in this great mundane mess. Red Hair. Some people admire red hair, and others have it. Red-headed people are better looking look-ing than other people, if they are. Some are ugly as mud fences. The-horse dealer calls red-headed people sorrel. The cattle men call them Devons or Durhams. The hog-men call them Durocs. Ornithologists call them woodpeckers. woodpeck-ers. The dog men call them Irish setters. The poultry men call them Rhode Island reds. The artists call tiiem Titians. And there you are. But all the time there are a few people peo-ple around town, including the possessor posses-sor of the pink foliage, who know they are plain red-heads. We once knew a girl who was so redheaded red-headed that the underwriters raised the insurance rate on her father's frame dwelling. We also knew a young man who couldn't use anything but asbestos pillow-eases. And once when he tried to take an egg-shampoo the odor of scorching omelette was almost unbearable. This boy finally got a job in a laxge city, standing in a gas-ditch in a busy j street at night and letting his head |