Chapter X

Now Cruickshank was a loyal worker Who frowned upon the average shirker, And in the place where Cruickshank toiled The wheels of work were shrewdly oiled, And profits had a way of rising Which showed the firm as enterprising. Through years that numbered thirty-one Cruickshank hated the owner's son-- "Stool pigeon" was the name the boy Had given him with whoops of joy. In Cruickshank's breast ambition burned And so he lived and worked and earned, Robbed Paul and Peter, had no gout And made his family go without. Sly Cruickshank in his stealthy way Bought shares in the firm for a rainy day, Existing on a miser's dole For the hour when he would have control, Wander in and announce the doom Of the President's son in the President's room.... So Cruickshank labored and did not shirk Though his poor wife died from overwork. But finally came the day of days.... Sly Cruickshank asked for a lordly raise. When father and son had answered "No" Expecting old Cruickshank to go He shrieked the triumph of his soul: "You are both discharged--I'm in control----" The President looked at the President's son; And the son looked at his father's son In a mirror that hung on the wall nearby And carefully straightened his yellow tie. Old Cruickshank waited ill at ease And felt a trembling in his knees-- The President spoke: "Why, we've just mailed The notice that this firm has failed."