Page 38 - 1926 Gleaner

THE GLEANER
The hall is as dark as the night outside. An uneasy stillness -prevails, yet on she goes. A door is open into a room from which fumes of incense drift out. As she reaches the doorway, a soft sound of weird music can be heard mingled with a human voice at a high pitch. Should she go farther?
As she stands there thus meditating, a low growl greets her. With a pounce he is in front of her. Too late she realizes she has found the wrong door. She turns to flee. Barely in time for his long nails just graze her neck.
She rushes to the door and out in the rain. If she should fall on the slippery pavement, he would be upon her. She flies Eke the wind to a high board fence, clambers over it with sur- prising agility, and a1ights on the ground, leaving her enemy on the opposite side.
The exciting scene being over, she looks toward her enemy with disgust and then walks briskly away. What did a scene like this matter 'in her life, for she is but a tabby cat and he a collie dog?
Horace, Odes 1., 1
Mascaenas, Thou of bluest Norman Blood.
Who always payest my fines or goest bail,
There are some mutts who love the splash of mud Upon the windshield; on two wheels they sail, Grazing the curb, nor heed uplifted palm
Of traffic cop, and think they own the earth.
This goop is tickled if his fickle clan
Thrice raises him to a governmental berth :
'That fish, if he can corner in advance
Next autumn's crop of 'Manitoba hard'.
The rustic gent with patches on his pants
Who hoes the thistles in his grandpop's yard,
You could not bribe, although you owned the mint, To ride the wriggling wobbly woozy waves: Detroit's torrents with an anxious squint
The merchant views; no more its troubles braves, And praises Home Sweet Home: but smuggling pays And cash is scarce, so he refills his tank.
I know a dub who drinks Scotch. All his days
He's struggled against work, and on a bank
Of poison ivy will he lie and snore,
And let his long legs dangle in the creek.
Some boobs like camps and the drill sergeant's roar
And wars which Ma don't like (they make her sick) The hu_nter stay~ for hours knee deep in swamp, Glad his dear wife he may a while forget, Whether his faithful hounds a buck do lamp,
Or savage groundhog bust his fragile net. Page Thirty-four