To Spring

The board walks are going away, away

Tra la, tra la, tra la.

April is here, will soon be May

Tra la, tra la, tra la

The air is soft, the violets smell,

The birds are singing, the tree buds swell.

But snow is coming so what the hell?

Tra la, tra la, tra la.

"Let us presume", queries Perplexed, "that one is walking down the avenue--any avenue will do--and a soft purring noise is heard at one's side. Then, gentle, palpitating, irridescent, comes a voice of a young female and turning one beholds a Chrysler roadster or a Stutz roadster or even a Hispano-Suiza (although this would be very improbable). The occupant, a woman--young, comely and solitary--inquires as to whether or not one would care to ride. What is the correct action to take? I am a stranger in your city."

Answer: It must have been two other fellows because such things don't happen in our city. P. S. What was the name of the avenue?

Ballad of the B and A

The Wellesley train of a Saturday night is a lovely thing to see,

Jammed to the doors and packed to the aisles with femininity.

Some of these girls are charming--they appeal to me a lot.