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The Green Bag Who handed him a crested card on which Vesuvius read, "G. Aginbury Mortimer, Ninth Earl of Dunderhead." His Grace, sedately seated in Vesuvius' swivel chair, Explained with British bluntness the reason he was there: "I represent the Charing Cross United Syndicates, Which has extensive holdings in twenty-seven states; We need the constant services of a barrister, and you, I think, are just the man will suit us, Mr. Blue."

Vesuvius made a courtly bow. "My lord, the people wait For me to test the life-boats upon the Ship of State; I hope the mellow contents of yon transparent urn Will help to speed the moments until I can return —" "Not so," exclaimed the other, "I very much prefer, Because of your forensic skill, to listen to you, sir!" So to the Greenville common the helpless lawyer led His ultra-British client, the Earl of Dunderhead, Confronted by a problem that caused his brain to whirl! — How to enthuse the people yet not offend the Earl. His useless speech discarded, Vesuvius, all the way, Implored the smiling heavens, "Ye gods, what shall I say?"

But with the outward semblance of patriotic rage, He shouldered through the concourse, and sprang upon the stage. He flayed the Persian satraps, and dwelt for quite a while Upon the sins of Cheops who rules beside the Nile; He pointed out the errors that caused the fall of Rome, And smashed a dozen empires as he drew nearer home. "Who placed," he cried, "those guideposts upon the sands of time, That lead us frpm the wilderness of tyranny and crime? To whose undaunted prowess upon the fields of war We stand indebted for our state, and for the D. A. R.? It is those soldier-colonists, whose never-dying glory By me shall be recounted in a little allegory." "I seem to be at Yorktown, and in my mystic dream, I see the London Scarlets, who play the local team. Cornwallis leads the tourists, but standing grimly by I see that mighty Batter who couldn't tell a lie! Cornwallis speeds a compound, reverse, parabaloid, 'Twould seem no living mortal could hit the swift spheroid. But did our Batter hit it? Where dwells the youth, or kid, Or man, or maid, or matron, that doesn't know he did? My friends, I say with fervor, it gives me keen delight To watch that glorious homer and trace it in its flight!