A Moneylogue: A Poem

632 IMPROVEMENT ERA Nickerson was a large, rather stout man, and what the clerks called easy-going. But his fifty years had not by any means blunted the keen edge of his shrewdness in looking after things. "That's correct, sir, if your name's Brocketts," he said, answering the last half of Brocketts' statement and looking at the boy inquiringly. "My name's Brocketts, sir." "Very well. then. Mr. Brocketts, this is what you're to do: In the forenoon you're to help Dudley Brown arrange the orders for the delivery men and run such errands for anyone in this department as may be necessary. Then in the afternoon there'll be more orders to look after for the next morning. Besides, it'll be your work to sweep and dust. Always do that, though, when there's nobody here." "Yes, sir." "O Dudley!" Mr. Nickerson called. And when that young man came up, he said, "Here's a new hand for us. He'll take part of your work and help you with part of the rest. His name's Brocketts." "Yes, I know him," Dudley explained. We'll get along all right. "Very well, Dudley, you show him what to do and how to do it. I'll deliver him over to you." "All right, Mr. Nickerson, I'll take care of him. (to be continued) A Moneylogue (Selected) NINE HUNDRED "per" Heigh-ho! I give it up — I'm stumped! It won't work out, that's clear — No man can keep a fam'ly on nine hundred bucks a year! We've tried to skimp on this and that — we've called the bitter sweet; But somehow when I figure up the ends will not quite meet. If Minnie gets the dress she needs, on rent day — sure as sin! — We're short that much;. and if we pay — well, where do clothes come in? We're not extravagant at all; there's no place I can see Where we could cut expenses down and keep on being "we."

A MONEYLOGUE ' o33 It isn't much, our deficit; but, though I try and try To scheme and plan and manage things, I just can't quite get by; Now, if I had twelve hundred, say, instead of nine, you bet We'd have enough for everything, without a care or fret! ONE YEAR LATER Heigh-ho! There's no use arguing or asking "Why?" No, sir! A man can't live— he simply can't— on just twelve hundred "per." We watch expenses, goodness knows, just like the fabled cat; And everything that saves a cent — well, we are strong for that; But grocery bills, and ice and coal, and butter, milk and cream, Make what you're earning fade away like any empty dream. Of course we've moved now to a flat; and, though it does cost more. We had to have another room — we couldn't live in four! And yet — and yet, when I get out my bills and books at night And figure up, I find, alas! that things won't come out right; There is no item I can trim — but, say! if I just had An even eighteen hundred "per" I'd change my name to Glad! TWO YEARS LATER Heigh-ho! I thought 'twould be enough; but now it's hard to see How eighteen hundred dollars ever looked so big to me! I wouldn't mind it now and then; but, actually, I'm bored To death with facing every day that specter, "Can't Afford." We try to live within our means; but there are things, you know, That one can't do without at all! Say, now and then a show — The opera, occasionally; the mountains or the shore When summer comes; and, by the way, we've had to move once more An eight-room flat — bought brand-new things. I'd like it fine — but, say On eighteen hundred dollars "per" it's all a rainy day! I've tried to figure some way out. I can't. But, oh, if I Had twenty-five each year for mine — well, then we would get by! THREE YEARS LATER Heigh-ho! It's getting worse! Heigh-ho! Why, twenty-five a year Is just a trifle nowadays, when everything's so dear! We just can't get along at all without a maid and cook; We really need a butler, but we haven't time to look; We need another motor car — the chauffeur tells me so; We need a trip abroad this year, and really ought to go. Now, when you cut things down like this to bare necessities, How can you cut them any more? Come, answer, if you please! But if I had five thousand — ah! there'd be some class to that — Like Peace and Plenty on the bags and Certainty at bat! Who's knocking? What? A con-con-constable! For me, you say? Well, come on in — sure! Take it out — it's no good anyway!" Guernsey Van Riper.