XVIII
I next sprung Pansy for a four-bit feed—
It was a giddy tax, but what care I?
We shot the bill-of-fare from soup to pie
And lemonade (that cost an extra seed).
“You’re the cute plunge,” says Pans’, and I agreed
That at a spenderfest I wasn’t shy,—
That when it came to rolling nickels by,
Willie the Cowboy was a perfect bleed.
She said that Thomas Lawson on a lark
Would faint away to see the way I blew;
She said I’d be the whizz in Central Park,
And Ready Cash to me seemed very few.
I asked her, Did she need a Valentine?
And she responded, “You’re the pink for mine!”