THE STAGE-DOOR JOHNNIE.

Free Lance, Volume III, Issue 143, 28 March 1903, Page 16

THE STAGE-DOOR JOHNNIE.

He y\ ears his collar extra high ; He sorews an eyeglass in. his eye; And tells you with, a simpering sigh, "He's! awfully mashed on Connie!" "Who," he ave>rs, "is doosid nioe." But, if she follows my advice, She will not stand, at any price, The silly stagedoor Johnnie. He takes an hour to fix his tie — The most expensive com,, can buy ! He'd genuinely rather die Than not be in the fashion. He feels the whole of his success Depends upon, his style of dress, Which must be such as will impress The girl he "has a mash on." By nine o'clock he is in-stalled, And there he sits all night enthralled; His head (that's prematurely bald !) Be wags with joy ecstatic. The while his cod-fish eye alights On Connie, in her silken tights ; Then borne aloft on, rapture's heights, His praise is most emphatic. "Bai Jove ! Oh ' Am't she ritroin' ? What' No flies on her? Well, rather not! The piece? Oh, that's tommy-rot. But Connie's simply splendid'" So on, he baibbles, like a nil Of limpid, clubland slang, and still He warmly rhapsodises, till The curtain has descended. Then to the door he hies him straight, Which is to him the heavenly gate From whence will issue, soon or late. His handsome, winsome Connie. At last. Oh, rapture! Here she comes ! His heart-beat positively hums, But Connie snaps her dainty thumbs At the silly stage-door Johnnie. He's not the sort of man at all A girl's affection to enthral, She much prefers them strong and tall ; He's far too slim and dapper. She likes a manly sort of man. Filled out with muscle not with bran, And so she ; ll resolutely ban The stage-door whipper-snapper. — "Daisy " in "Modern Society."

If you'd keep from angry bick'rings, Live in matrimonial bliss, Never let your angry passions rise, And first remember this There's a royal road to happiness To which all may aspire, If they'll only take the trouble to Get up and light the fire. When the weather's cold and stormy, And the mercury is freezing, When influenza's hanging round, And everybody's sneezing. Never mind the chilly breezes, That freeze your marrow-bones, Be a hero when you bump your shins Or stand on the cold stones. Keep on always rememb'ring That a woman will admire A man who leaves his cosy bed To light the kitchen fire.