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Show THE MILLIONAIRE'S HOLIDAY. When J. P. M. set forth in quest Of lengthy and much needed rest, Full wearisome had been his lot, To hazard what was "art" or not Ho clicked his heels together. As, from scholastic trammels free, The schoolboy clicketh his in glee, So did omniscient J. P. M. Full emulate the stunts of them, When loosened from his tether. Though calculated much to shock, Ho smiled at the reporter's knock As hurled 'gainst his stateroom door In mode that suits the scribal poor, And answered questions devious; Such as what color he preferred, If he considered Morse had erred, Whether toward Roosevelt he inclined, And on what condiments he'd dined Upon the evening previous. "Oh, sunny Egypt, 'mid thy tombs I'll ostracize," he cried, "all glooms, Encountering no ill-clad churls, Where thumb-marked note book ne'er unfurled!" Ho cried this with effusion. "I'll hie me where they excavate, And purchase mummies for the state, In soulful solitude. What bliss Indeed can bo compared to this?" Alas, what vain delusion! Tho Ethlop prepared did stand With parchment tables in his hand, To learn If Mr. Morgan thinks He'll let them still retain the Sphinx. Henceforth, with much abhorrence, Ho fled into Italian clime, Where hundreds plied him all the time With Gioconda strange behests; Mutt'ring a stronger word than "pests," He had to fly from Florence. Tho same in Paris and in Nice; Detectives also would not cease Their endless queries on some head. They even sought to see in bed The Croesus of our nation. Sometimes I marvel whether he, Who cannot drink a cup of tea Without annoyance, when he seeks For rest, sighs at tho triple weeks We get of lowlier station. The Toiler. |