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Title: The Sandwich Girl
Author: Everard Jack Appleton [
More Titles by Appleton]
This is the story as told to me;
It may be a fairy-tale new,
But I know the man, and I know that he lies
Very infrequently, too!
When the boys in khaki first were called to serve,
Guarding railroad bridges and the like,
Bob was just a private in the old N. G.,
Fond of all the work--except the hike.
When they sent his comp'ny down the road a bit,
"Gee!" he said, "I'd like to commandeer
Some one's car and drive it--marching gets my goat!"
(Bob was quite a gas-car engineer.)
Lonesome work, this pacing up and down a bridge.
Now and then a loaded train goes by;
But at night--just nothing; everything was dead;
Empty world beneath an empty sky.
Then the chauffeur lady got into the game,
Drove her car each midnight to our tents,
Bringing us hot coffee, sandwiches, and pie;
All the others thought that was immense.
But Bob, ungrateful cuss, he would never say,
Like the rest, that she had saved their lives;
He was too blamed busy, like the one-armed man
Papering--the one that had the hives!
Bob would eat the lunches--eat and come again,
Silent, but as hungry as a pup;
Finish with a piece o' pie, swallow it--and go;
Never had to make him hurry up!
Then one night we heard him talking to the girl,
Like he was complaining to her: "Say!
Can't you change the stuffing? I am sick of ham!
Have a heart! I'd just as lief eat hay!"
Did we all jump on him? You can bet we did:
"Who gave you the right to kick, you steer,
Over what she brings us? She's a first-rate pal;
Talk some more and get her on her ear!"
Bob was somewhat flustered; thought we hadn't heard.
Then he said, "Well, ain't you tired o' ham?"
"What of that?" says Wilcox. "Think of how she works!
Spends her cash ...!" (All Bob said then was, "Damn!")
Grabbing up his Springfield, "Listen, you!" he snaps.
"That's my motor and my gasoline.
Sure she's spending money--but it comes from me;
She's my sister, and her name's Irene!"
Then, as he marched himself into the night,
We looked at each other a spell.
"We've ditched our good luck--he won't let her come back,"
Says Wilcox. "Now isn't that hell!"
[The end]
Everard Jack Appleton's poem: Sandwich Girl
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