  IT’S all off now. She’s gone out West somewhere— The papers say to South Dakota—there She’s got things fixed to get divorced, they claim. It seems that Mrs. Pickleham’s her name In private life, instead of Miss Le Claire. Her father runs a dray in Buffalo, That’s what the papers say: I s’pose they know. I wonder why it always has to be That everything you think is great before You know about it, when you get to see Just how it is don’t seem so grand no more? I wish I had the forty cents I blew To get the bunch of posies what I threw At her that night. I had to gasp almost Whenever she’d look up. Gee! What a roast The boys would give me fer it if they knew. But still there ain’t no use of feelin’ bad; I got my money’s worth, fer I was glad, And every minute that you’re feelin’ gay About a thing that never can come true Is something that’ll not get took away; It’s in your system and belongs to you.
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