WONDER WORLD.

Stratford Evening Post, Volume XXXV, Issue 83, 15 April 1913, Page 8

WONDER WORLD.

£ mot him in the twilight at a coffee won d er-wo r 1 d afar, Then he prattled of adventures lie had met with in his time, And I took them down in shorthand and I turned them into rhyme. He’d been hashed by brutal bandits in a lonely country lane, He’d been tracked by baying bloodhounds to a field of golden grain He’d been bound and left to perish where the tide was rising fast, He’d been tossed about the ocean clinging madly to a mast. He’d been bricked up in a cellar meant to lie his living tomb, He had known the lighted charcoal and its suffocating fume, He’d been laid upon the railway in the track of the express, He’d keen stabbed in bis pyjamas, he’d been shot in evening dress. Ho had rescued martyr d maidens from the ! pirates’ lonely lair, Ho had borne them on his Irplane back to freedom through the air, He’d been severed at the altar from his orange-blossomed bride, By a gang of desperadoes who had brained her by his side. When he’d finished, said I sternly, “Do you take mo for a flat?” Do you think you’ve got a greenhorn that you’re talking through your hat ” Then ho smiled at me and murmured, “What 1 say is truth, 1 swear; Pm a kinema perfomcr in the pay of of Bathe Freros.” —Dagonet in “Referee.”