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Show Literature of the Rushed, 1 j;j ;il How do the journalists grind their grist? O i i'- & llB Learn, sir, from the lay of an optimist. ML $ l Scuttering in on the train, li'i' itU'' Jl Crowded and vulgar and hot, $ 'k fjiif 'fjB Jostled at elbow and back, ft h i, H Writing "society" rot. $ (I j' k '!$ Scratching a pad on your knee, g3.jl! , 0 ,S With pencilings jagged and rough; , W , T i'JH Interrupted by telegrams three: jf i'i'jv'pjH "Why the blank don't you hurry your stuff?" I $ MM Or, perhaps, you sit down at the side R' aV'liaM Of the crude rustic telegraph plug m m M JldJlS Who wires off your screed" while you scrawl ll' irIliJ,B And by his fool question are dug: If JE'iffM "That word 'cut'? Why, I thought it was 'cat.' if$IB That 'Johnson'? Looks like it was 'Jones.' SliiliHii-fH Guess you never learned how to write." pI $;'! fH And so on, in spite of your groans. T'l ' Or crushed in a stale, stuffy hall $ji'f4,r,liliH Where you write down the speech of a dunce PltlilB While flanked by a hundred old hens, $ W 1jfl Eighteen of them cackling at once; $j 'JM And even if all take the floor, iiifV)R9fl While the chairwoman screams like a hawk, i ffcli lliH S.till, still you must follow the trend, I iwfljfiil Though the trend be a tangle of talk. 1 ijl'PBflfl And when you sit down at your desk ' 'IfflH To write up a long interview, $8 T -IffM On one side the typewriter clicks j'jj ; .fB And your poor head is dictated through tit'i j .JUfl By the great star who never can write ii jl.'kJfjfH But bawls in a regular flow, i ll&ralilB And you grind while they click and they clack, jl jjl Ifwm Whether you love it or no. i !bHm !silM Or grabbing each sheet while you write, jl IjEfdlH A boy takes it up to the room JimfffiH Of the night man, whose job is to feed 11)11 llirffl The great typographical loom. Ii if' jjllfl As you scrawl, thunders break above; !$'Ie1$11I8 Their roarings your tired ears rend, tH PJPW And clenching your fingers you cry, m mffiBtiM "How the deuce did that last sentence end?" ill jlfilmH Wise men read the paper and say, Ht'SIB "He split his infinitive there, ; 1'Wm And the wrong tense he used in this place. iltg! -? flam Such rhetoric isn't it queer?" illrl'lHH It ought to be perfect, of course, "1 H .filffiH Haul MmM And never by any chance mushed ) :' -iilH Smooth of phrase, clear of thought and well- 1 , fjlfl turned J nHfl This literature of the rrshed. u II , MH From "Songs of the Press," by Bailey Millard, 111 i&flBH published by Elder & Shepard. M ImwBM |