The World’s Wit and Humor: An Encyclopedia in 15 Volumes. 1906.
Albert Gallatin Riddle (1816–1902)A Poem of Every-Day Life
H
Within the billiard hall;
He was gotten up regardlessly
To pay his party call.
His thoughts were dire and dark within,
Discourteous to fate:
“Ah, me! these social debts incurred
Are hard to liquidate.”
His collar tall and swell;
His hats were made by Dunlap,
And his coats were cut by Bell;
A symphony in black and white,
“Of our set” the pride,
Yet he lingered on his way—
He would that he had died.
The pave gave forth no sound;
They seemed in pitying silence clothed—
West End-ward he was bound.
He approached the mansion stealthily,
The step looked cold and chill;
He glanced into the vestibule,
But all was calm and still.
His card-case in his hand;
He saw the mirror in the hall—
Solemn, stately, grand.
Suddenly his spirits rose;
The drawing-room looked dim;
The menial filled his soul with joy
With “No, there’s no one in.”
His heart was gay and light,
Happy that he went and paid
His party call that night.
His steps turned to the billiard hall,
Blissfully he trod;
He entered: “What, returned so soon?”
Replied: “She’s out, thank God!”
Within their upright beds,
And sixteen different tiles were placed
On sixteen level heads;
Sixteen men upon the street
In solid phalanx all,
And sixteen men on duty bent
To pay their party call.
At early dawn, I ween,
She slowly looked the cards all out—
They numbered seventeen.
With calm relief she raised her eyes,
Filled with grateful light,
“Oh, merciful Fate, look down and see
What I’ve escaped this night!”