VIII.

This morning when that homely, long-legged clerk Come in he had a rose he got somewhere; He went and kind of leaned against her chair, Instead of goin' on about his work, And stood around and talked to her awhile, Because the boss was out,—and both took care To watch the door; and when he left her there He dropped the flower with a sickish smile.

I snuck it from the glass of water she Had stuck it in, and tore it up and put It on the floor and smashed it with my foot, When neither him nor her was watchin' me— I'd like to rub the stem acrost his nose, And I wish they'd never be another rose.