"If you promise to keep quite still," said the Poet Laureate. "I will read you my latest poem."

"I should be delighted," said Alice, whose manners never failed her.

The Poet Laureate cleared his throat and read:

The sun was shining in the sky,
The time was 2 A.M.
(No stand-pat luminary, he
Progressived with a slam),
And folks in bed were luncheoning
Exclusively on jam.

"This doesn't seem to be quite clear," said Alice.

"Of course it isn't," said the Poet Laureate. "This is just to create the proper atmosphere." And he went on:

The Colonel and the Harvester
Had found a shady spot.
They sorted Issues by the piece,
The dozen, and the lot.
And most of them were highly spiced,
And all were piping hot.
"For seven years," the Colonel said,
"I walked the quarter deck,
I smote the Trusts, and in their gore
I waded to the neck."
"I know it," sobbed the Harvester,
And signed another check.

"I haven't overdone the pathos, have I?" said the Poet Laureate.

"Not at all," said Alice.

"Oh Pledges, come and walk with us,"
The valiant Colonel cried.
"Your numbers clearly show my stand
Upon race suicide.
Your countless faces fill my breast
With pardonable pride."
The elder Pledges shook their heads
And whimpered as he spoke;
The elder Pledges couldn't move
Because their backs was broke,
But all the younger fry obeyed
And waited for the joke.

"I will now skip several stanzas because they are quite intelligible," said the Poet Laureate.

"It seems to me that you can read them all the better then," said Alice.

"But if they are already intelligible, what use is there in reading them?" said the Poet Laureate, impatiently, and he went on:

"The time has come," the Colonel said,
"To speak of many things,
Of Presidents of sealing wax,
And hats inside of rings,
And why I feel so boiling hot,
And whether truth has wings."
"A brand new deal, Oh Pledges dear,
Is what we chiefly need.
A double-acting memory
Is very good indeed;
And if you're ready, Harvester,
We can begin to feed."
"But not on us," the Pledges cried—

"Please," said Alice, "please won't you skip what happened next? I have never been able to think about it without crying. It's too cruel."

"Very well," said the Poet Laureate, "I am rather tender-hearted myself. I'll pass on to the last verse:

"'Oh Pledges dear,' the Colonel said,
'Is not this bully fun?
I thank you for the Harvester——'
But answer there came none,
And this was scarcely odd, because
He'd swallowed every one."