At The Telephone.

A poem by Edwin C. Ranck

Ting-ling--"South, please, 1085;
Why hello, Jim--Oh, Saints alive!
It's south, I told you--hello; no,
I said once that I could not go.

"Say, can you meet me there tonight?
Confound it, Jim, you must be tight.
What are you saying anyhow,
I've got the wrong ear by the sow?

"Not pretty? Why, she's out o'sight,
Oh, shut up; that will be all right.
You can't walk there? Why it ain't far;
We get there on a 'lectric car.

"Well, Great Scott, man, don't talk all day,
But let me know now right away.
Miss B----, Oh, let the old girl wait;
We won't be out so very late.

"You will? All right then--eight o'clock;
Be sure and meet me on the block,
Remember now, don't get it wrong;
All right, old man (Ting-ling), so long."

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