Part 3
A woman dearer than all the world And true as heaven is true God, how ghastly she looks through her rouge The Lady, who was known as Lou.
The music almost died away, so soft That you scarce could hear, And you felt that your life had been looted Of all that it once held dear.
That someone had stolen the woman you loved And her love was a devil’s lie And your guts were gone and the best for you Was to crawl away and die.
’Twas the crowning glory of a heart’s dispair And it thrilled you through and through I guess I’ll make it a spread Misere Said Dangerous Dan McGrew.
The music almost died away Then oft burst like a pent-up flood And it seemed to say, repay, repay And your eyes went blind with blood.
And the thought came back like an ancient wrong And it stung like a frozen lash And the lust awoke, to kill, to kill, And the music stopped with a flash.
The stranger turned and his eyes they burned In a most peculiar way In a buck-skin shirt that was glazed with dirt He sat and I seen him sway.
Then, his lips went in in a kind of grin And he spoke and his voice was strong And boys, said he, you don’t know me And none of you care a Damn.
But I want to state, and my words are straight And I’ll bet my poke their true That one of you is a “Hound of Hell” And that one is Dan McGrew.
Then I ducked my head and the lights went out And two guns blazed in the dark Then the lights went up and a woman screamed And two men lay stiff and stark.
Pitched on his head and pumped full of lead Lay Dangerous Dan McGrew, While the man from the creeks, lay crushed to the breast Of the Lady that was known as Lou.
These are the simple facts of the case And I guess I ought to know They said that the stranger was crazed with hooch And I’m not denying it’s so.
I’m not so wise as there lawyer guys But strictly between us two The woman that kissed him and pinched his poke Was the Lady, that was known as Lou.
* * * * *
My Little Home-Made Bar
While the wintry wind is blowing, and it’s hailing and it’s snowing; Folks all wonder how I manage to keep warm. If they only knew the reason why I always keep in season, At my door, an endless line would straightway form, Comes the Summer, hot and torrid, I don’t swear it’s blinkin’ horrid, It’s a time of joy and comfort, I declare, For in my lowly cellar is the coziest rathskellar, That’s my little home-made bar beneath the stair.
Thus I scorn official blighters who’d regenerate booze fighters, By arresting them and placing them in jail; Virtue can’t be legislated into man, degenerated, Ancient rights can’t be usurped—they will prevail, So I’m happy, hail and hearty and sometimes put on a party Of my own without a solitary care, Where I spend such blissful hours, in the fairest of all bowers, In my little home-made bar beneath the stair.
* * * * *
I Doubt If You Don’t
_When the Whiz Bang first made its debut into the world in 1919, we published the poem, “I Don’t.” Now steps up a contributor and offers an answer to it. Both of them have punch and pep, so we are offering these twin sisters of poetic mirth for your approval herewith.—The Editor._
I Don’t
My mama told me not to smoke— I Don’t. Nor listen to a naughty joke— I Don’t. They made it clear I must not wink At handsome men nor even think About intoxicating drink— I Don’t.
To dance and flirt is very wrong— I Don’t. Wild girls chase men, wine and song— I Don’t. I kiss no boys, not even one. I do not know how it is done. You wouldn’t think I’d have much fun— I Don’t.
* * * * *
In Answer to the Above
When a pair of red lips are upturned to your own, With none to gossip about it; Do you pray for endurance and—leave them alone; Well, maybe you do—but—I doubt it.
When a shy little hand you’re permitted to seize, With a velvety softness about it; Do you think you can drop it, with never a squeeze; Well, maybe you do—but—I doubt it.
When a tapering waist is in reach of your arm, With a wonderful plumpness about it; Do you argue the point ’twixt the good and the harm; Well, maybe you do—but—I doubt it.
* * * * *
A Ballad of Forsaken Wives
By Mrs. Henry Mobley.
My husband’s gone and left me In the hills of Brown; Forsaken me on account of Others of this little town.
He’s always been a blacksmith; I treated the man well; The last words he told me Were, I’d better go to hell.
It was awful hard to swallow, Hard to get it down. Now he’s forsaken me for Others of this little town.
He wants a younger woman In his older day; He says I’m getting old, And am turning gray.
I always tried to treat him right And do the best I could, But the worst words he could Say to me always done him good.
He is getting old and I am getting gray; But he’ll see the time he’ll wish He hadn’t went away.
He’s gone and left me And left me all alone; Perhaps he’ll take one with him He can call his own.
He’s gone and left me In the hills of Brown; Forsaken me on account of Others of this little town.
He’s mine; let him go; God bless him where’er he may be; He can travel the wide world over And never find one like me.
* * * * *
The Dying Hobo
’Twas dawn by a western water tank, One cold November day; There in an open boxcar, A dying hobo lay.
His partner stood beside him, With a sadly drooping head, Listening to the last words That the dying hobo said.
Good-by old pal, I’m going To a land where all is bright, Where handouts grow in the bushes, And you can sleep out every night.
The dying hobo’s head dropped back, And as he sang his last refrain, His partner stole his shoes and socks And grabbed an eastbound train.
* * * * *
_Said a giddy old maid named Biddy McHugh,_ _I’d like to be good and I’d like to be true,_ _For it’s good to be good,_ _But I’m not made of wood,_ _Boo-hoo, boo-hoo, no wonder I’m blue._
* * * * *
Two Women
By N. P. Willis.
The shadows lay along Broadway, ’Twas near the twilight tide— And slowly there a lady fair Was walking in her pride. Alone walked she; but viewlessly, Walked spirits at her side.
Peace charmed the street beneath her feet, And honor charmed the air, And all astir looked kind on her, And called her good and fair— For all God ever gave to her She kept with chary care.
She kept with care her beauties rare From lovers warm and true— For her heart was cold to all but gold, And the rich came not to woo— But honored well are charms to sell If rites the SELLING do.
Now walking there was one more fair— A slight girl, lily-pale; And she had unseen company To make the spirit quail— ’Twixt Want and Scorn she walked forlorn, And nothing could avail.
No mercy now can clear her brow, For this world’s peace to pray; For, as Love’s wild prayer dissolved in air, Her woman’s heart gave way!— But the sin forgiven by Christ in Heaven By man is cursed alway.
* * * * *
Ring around the rosy, Cellar full of booze; We can have a party Any time we choose.
* * * * *
The Night Before Pay Day
’Twas the night before pay day and all through my jeans I searched but in vain for the price of some beans. Not a quarter was stirring—not even a jit; The coin was off-duty—milled edges had quit. Move forward! Move forward! Oh time, in thy flight, Make it tomorrow—just for tonight.
* * * * *
Hubby came home, tangle-footed, His wifie met him at the door, Grabbed the bottle from his pocket— “Empty? Go and get some more!”
* * * * *
Irene Talbot, skillful typist, Works for Dave A. Masterbilt. Writes a neat and snappy letter, Marks it in this way: “DAM/IT.”
* * * * *
A Plea for the Prodigal Girl
By O. D. Copeland.
I have read of the death of the martyrs; the story of Peter and Paul, The story of Luther and Calvin—I respect and honor them all; And also old Thomas and Stephen, honest and faithful men, And I’ve read the sweet story of Jesus, and expect to read it again, I’ve read of the Good Samaritan, of charity’s lesson begun, And my heart goes out in great pity to the wayward, prodigal son.
All are so glad to welcome him, so quick to forget and forgive, It makes no difference what he has done, if only comes back to live; They have always prayed for the prodigal boy since ever the world begun, The joy, the glory, forgiveness of the returning wayward son, But poets seem to forget to write of the saddest thing in the world— They are not so eager to welcome back the poor little prodigal girl.
Just why she has turned out crooked—she happened to strike “the right one,” Who had the slick tongue of a Judas—and that was your prodigal son; Though the boy is upheld and forgiven, it is common all over the world, That you scornfully point out for gossip the poor little prodigal girl. There is nothing so truly pathetic as the life of the maidens who fall, And if you search down to the bottom, you will find man the cause of it all.
But he is led back in society and nursed with the tenderest care, Held up to the world as a hero, and mentioned in fervent prayer, While she is cast out from her loved ones; out in the hard, cruel world, And everyone points out and scorns her, the poor little prodigal girl, Now, as has been said quite often, and we will repeat it again, That the lowest of fallen women are better than most of the men.
* * * * *
Ten-year Mary saw her mother Dolled all up—skirt “a la sport.” “Mama, when will I be grown up And can wear my dresses short?”
* * * * *
Ahoy, Liza’s Fig Tree!
Returning from France, a colored trooper was awakened from his nap on the deck by a companion who shouted to him to get up and look at a passing sail boat.
“Niggah,” drowsily answered the reclined trooper, “Don’t you all waken me agin till we pass a tree.”
* * * * *
Something to Worry About
In Persia boys and girls never play together.
* * * * *
Customer in soft drink parlor—Hey there, bartender, stop killing those flies! Don’t you suppose I want a little kick in my beer?
* * * * *
Squaring Himself
Everyone has heard authentic stories of the man who asked another: “Who is that old slob over yonder?” and got the reply: “She is my wife.” But the story doesn’t go far enough.
Jones observed an old lady sitting across the room.
“For heaven’s sake!” he remarked to Robinson, “who is that extraordinarily ugly woman there?”
“That,” answered Robinson, “is my wife.”
Jones was taken aback, but moved up front again.
“Well,” he said persuasively, “you just ought to see mine!”
_Pasture Pot Pourri_
Oh, boys! What wouldn’t I give for just an acre of Cuba in the center of the Whiz Bang farm.
* * * * *
The reason why Dan Cupid makes so many bad shots is because he aims at the heart while looking at the hosiery.
* * * * *
_Gi’mea Jane wit alit’l eye_ _an’ a nose so very long,_ _Two lips dat qiv’er an’ make u’ giv’ er_ _a sam’pell ove yoh ’tong._
* * * * *
_I got a gal she’s neat_ _Sweet as turkey meat_ _With a great big leg_ _And toot’ie woot’ie feet._
* * * * *
Our Latest Song Success
Never Mind the Bread, Mother—Father will soon be Home with a Bun.
* * * * *
It makes no difference what you are, Or what you might have been; But if you want a drink that’s fast, Get a quart of old sloe gin.
* * * * *
Love Croon of a Gambler
Dearie, oh, dearie! If I could have held a hand like this years ago, who knows but what I might have had a full house now.
* * * * *
Absinthe makes the heart grow fonder; Also makes the poor brain wander.
* * * * *
Eczema, you can’t belong to our union. You’re too much of a scab.
* * * * *
Mamma loves papa, and papa loves women.
* * * * *
A He-Vamp’s Motto
_If you want one_ _Thin or fat_ _Get her address_ _From my flat._
* * * * *
Latest reports from Cork, Ireland, indicate that the Sinn Fein have taken Pluto, but cannot hold it.
* * * * *
A girl may drive a coach, Or even a motor car, But the girl who rides a-horseback Is stretching things too far.
* * * * *
Brethren and sistern, our text fo’ today will be taken from the book of Whiz Bang, chapta fo’ ’leven fo’ty fo’, verse seben ’leben: “He who sitteth on a red hot stove shall rise again.”
* * * * *
Good Advice
“Mother, may I go out to skate?” “Yes, my darling Julia, But don’t you try the figure 8, For it will surely fool ya! Just as you make a fancy whirl To show your springy muscle, The boys will see a foolish girl, Sleigh-riding on her bustle.”
—Brutus.
* * * * *
Sign in Natchez
Patrons depositing in this bank are respectfully requested not to leave any small change on the counter.
_Natchez must indeed be careless._
* * * * *
Latest Ballad
We will now sing: “The Liveryman’s Sweet Daughter; All But Me Knew Her.”
* * * * *
“Sweet Patootie!” gasped the bee, as he pushed his head high enough to get a breath of fresh air, “Bees may come and bees may go, but the Bull goes on forever.”
* * * * *
“Batter up for the wheatcakes,” shouted the cook in the beanery, who was an ex-umpire.
* * * * *
A successful magazine cover is one that has very little cover for the girl.
* * * * *
“Poor Fish!”
I wish I was a fish, A-frozen in the ice; Then I could watch the girlies skate; Oh, wouldn’t that be nice!
* * * * *
Am I Right or Am I Wrong?
Pure water is the best of gifts, That man to man can bring; But who am I that I should have The best of anything? Let princes revel at the pump, Peers with the pond make free, But old time bourbon, wine, or beer Are good enough for me.
* * * * *
“Here’s to the short skirt and the low waist. May they never meet.”
* * * * *
Speaking of Hosiery
Most of us keep at least one eye on the temptation we pray not to be led into.
* * * * *
No, Aloysius, Easter Sunday is not related to Billy Sunday.
* * * * *
Sweetheart Blues
_I got a man,_ _Won’t tell you his name,_ _Cause your man_ _And my man_ _May be the same._
* * * * *
Solomon’s interpretation of the white slave law:
_Love them where you find them and leave them where you love them._
* * * * *
Pat’s Narrow Escape
Pat and Mike, working on a night shift in a mill, decide that their work can be done by one, and arranged that they would alternate on the job after the boss went home at midnight.
The first night it was Pat’s turn to go home. A half hour later he surprised Mike by rushing into the mill and hurrying into his overalls.
“Mike,” he exclaimed, “I nearly got caught. I was just about to walk into my home when I saw, through the window, the boss eating a midnight supper with my wife.”
* * * * *
Here’s to Gretchen in the kitchen Frying doughnuts in the grease, With her lover bending o’er her, Coaxing, begging for a piece Of the doughnuts in the grease.
* * * * *
Little Miss Muffet, who sat on a tuffet, Eating her lunch one day, When a speeder espied her and drew up beside her, And both of ’em beat it away.
* * * * *
Foolish Bunk
_We cannot see any head or tail to this story, but as my good friend Neely sent it in, I’ll publish it for his benefit.—CAPTAIN BILLY._
A young man had an appointment for a lesson in phrenology and also an appointment to meet his sweetheart. He was undecided which to keep, when the girl telephoned. Learning of his difficulties, she asked him if he had a coin in his pocket. He replied affirmatively.
“Well, flip it,” she said.
* * * * *
Not a Scotch Soldier!
Scene: Hotel verandah in Rhodesia. Time, 8:30 a. m., early 1919.
Personae: A South African Scottish N. C. O. in the garb of old Gael, and civilian, to whom the former is telling the war tale.
Enter Indian waiter, who breathlessly addresses the soldier:
“You are wanted, sir, at once, at Room 23, and the lady says she feels bad this morning.”
“Great Scot! What lady? Excuse me, you fellows.” Precedes his hasty flight upstairs, where he had already noted that morning the presence of a very dainty pair of lady’s shoes outside the door of No. 23.
Knocking at the door, it was partially opened, and the fair unknown, peeping through the crack, no sooner caught sight of the kiltie than she exclaimed:
“My God! What do you want here?”
Soldier: “The coolie waiter said you wanted me badly.”
Lady: “The ⸺ fool! Why, I sent him for a Scotch and soda!”
* * * * *
I was born in Kentucky, Raised in Tennessee. If you don’t like my peaches, Don’t shake my tree. Oh, tell me how long Must I have to wait, Will you jazz with me now Or must I hesitate.
_Classified Ads_
Getting Rid of Grandma
(From the Mount Horeb, Wis., Times.)
Krohen Bros. have been doing a land-office business butchering hags for individual families in town.
* * * * *
Objection Sustained?
(From the Clarendon (Eng.) Mercury.)
WANTED—A really plain but experienced and efficient governess for three girls, eldest 10. Music, French and Latin required. Brilliancy of conversation, fascination of manner, and symmetry of form objected to, as the father is much at home, and there are grown-up sons.
* * * * *
Arise, Ye Dead, and Walk
(Sign in Seattle Street Car.)
The beautiful mausoleum at Washelli cemetery affords a royal resting place for those that sleep in death. For directions to get there, phone Ballard 1850.
* * * * *
They Feel Nice on Your Cheek
(Advertisement in Indianapolis Star.)
Oh, so warm! Ankle length satin bloomers, with the prettiest shirred cuff. It’s the quality of soft satin you like to feel against your cheek.
* * * * *
All Soldiers Invited
(From Keene, N. H., Democrat.)
There will be a bean supper, at the First Unitarian Church, on Saturday night, followed by a musical programme.
* * * * *
Models, Cars and Otherwise
(From the Des Moines Tribune.)
If party who stole Cadillac car Saturday will return pictures and films taken from car he can keep car. Pictures are priceless and impossible to replace. Mail to Des Moines Photo Materials Co.
* * * * *
A Noiseless Roomer
(From New Orleans Times Picayune.)
With private uptown or Carrollton, by young man. When at home I read or sleep, both quietly.
* * * * *
Reserve Us a Sand Hole, Please
(From Honolulu Star-Bulletin.)
WANTED—Young woman to share apartment on beach.
* * * * *
What Every Woman Ought to Know
(From the Davenport Democrat and Leader)
Rev. Mr. Rewlands gave his address following the supper hour, and about 75 women of the congregation were present to hear him. His subject was: “The Kind of Service Men Can Render to the Church and to the World.”
* * * * *
Oh, My Dear, You Should Have Seen Him!
(From the Hampton, Iowa, Chronicle)
The thieves took everything else he had in the room. Mr. Ferris borrowed a pair of pants from the housemaid while he went out to a store and secured a pair of shoes, socks, etc.
* * * * *
Man proposes—but not always marriage.
* * * * *
Scotch Thrift
Sandy, the office manager, approached Annie, the stenographer, for another loan of $10. It was a weekly occurrence and always had been granted.
“Well, Miss Laurie, here I am again to borrow the usual ten spot,” he said. “Funny isn’t it? Here I am making three times as much money as you, and yet I have to borrow from you every week. You always have money on hand, and I feel ashamed to ask you for another loan.”
“Oh, that’s all right,” replied Annie, “I haven’t as much money as you think, but I have borrowed from the boss and always manage to hoard a little bit.”
“The deuce you do!” exclaimed Sandy. “That’s what I have been doing with your ten spots.”
* * * * *
There was a young chicken named Rose Who wore the most wonderful hose They set the men staring But she wasn’t caring For that’s why she wore ’em, I s’pose.
* * * * *
Perfect Cleanliness
“Martha, have you wiped the sink dry yet?” asked the farmer as he made ready for bed.
“Yes, Joshua, why do you ask!”
“Well, I did want a drink of water, but I guess I can wait until morning.”
* * * * *
Miss Allison’s Sensation
We’ve heard lots of gossip from Hollywood, but it takes a Philadelphia “questions and answers” editor to win the rubber medal, in the following:
Q.—Who is the movie actress whose horse ran away with her recently?
A.—This blushing experience befell May Allison recently while enacting the famous ride of Lady Godiva in Hollywood. The scene was made at night and (Miss Allison clad only in a long flowing blonde wig) was riding her horse down the street when the animal took fright at the brilliant lights and made a bolt for a public street.
* * * * *
A Nice Neighborhood
Two neighbor women were having a word battle over the backyard fence.
Mrs. Brown—“I know more about your husband than you do.”
Mrs. Jones—“Then you had better keep silent, as I know more about you than your husband does.”
* * * * *
Within the Law
Izzy was seen with an enormous diamond pin. His friend Moe couldn’t understand where Izzy got a thousand dollars to pay for it, so Izzy explained. “My uncle died and left one thousand dollars for a stone to his memory. I was the executor, and this is the stone.”
_Jest Jokes and Jingles_
“Have you anything to say before leaving the stand?” asked the judge, after pronouncing a death sentence upon a negro murderer.
“Yes, suh, jedge,” replied the prisoner. “I wants to say right here dat dis is gonna be a lesson to me.”
* * * * *
The melancholy days have come, The saddest of the year; It’s much too warm for moonshine, And too cold for darned near beer.
* * * * *
He Snuffs It