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Show S.tlt or'thcEirth. An editor sat In his rawhulo chair With his gun across his lap. Ho heard u lum coming up tho stair, And feared that the gun wouid suup. He dropped his shears and took good aim Through a small hole In tbo door But what he saw as the comer cutno Knocked him cold upon tbe floorl 'Twos the same old man who comc3 each year, The UrsUof a chosen band, To the worn-out editor's heart most dear, With u dollar In his hand. Men may come and tnny go away, As the weeks pass'one by one, But, after nil, fur the men who pay The newspaper must be run. Dallas News. |