“Johnny’s a poet, and we didn’t know it!” bawled Bud.  “Listen here at what the witless wight’s been a-writin’!” Then, seated upon the top rail and with his hat set far back on his head, Bud Norris began to declaim inexorably the first two verses, until the indignant author came over and interfered with voice and a vicious yank at Bud’s foot, which brought that young man down forthwith.

“Aw, le’ me alone while I read the rest!  Honest, it’s swell po’try, and I want the boys to hear it.  Listen—­get out, Johnny! ’I’ll circle high as if passing by, then—­v-o-l—­then vollup, bank, an’ land—­’ Hold him off’n me, boys!  This is rich stuff I’m readin’!  Hey, hold your hand over his mouth, why don’t yuh, Aleck?  Yo’ all want to wait till I git to where—­”

“I can’t,” wailed Aleck.  “He bit me!”

“Well, take ‘im down an’ set on him, then.  I tell yuh, boys, this is rich—­”

“You give that back here, or I’ll murder yuh!” a full-throated young voice cried hoarsely.

“Here, quit yore kickin’!” Bill admonished.

“Go on, Bud; the boys have got to hear it—­it’s rich!”

“Yeh—­shut up, Johnny!  Po’try is wrote to be read—­go on, Bud.  Start ’er over again.  I never got to hear half of it on account of Johnny’s cussin’.  Go on—­I got him chewin’ on my hat now.  Read ’er from the start-off.”

“The best is yet to come,” Bill gloated pantingly, while he held the author’s legs much as he would hold down a yearling.  “All set, Bud—­let ’er go!”

Whereupon Bud cleared his throat and began again, rolling the words out sonorously, so that Mary V heard every word distinctly: 

  “’Before I die, I’ll ride the sky;
     I’ll part the clouds like foam. 
   I’ll brand each star with the Rolling R,
     And lead the Great Bear home.’”

“Say, that’s swell!” a little fellow they called Curley interjected.  “By gosh, that’s darned good po’try!  I never knowed Johnny could—­”

He was frowned into silence by the reader, who went on exuberantly, the lines punctuated by profane gurgles from the author.

“Now this here,” Bud paused to explain, “was c’lab’rated on by Mary V. The first line was wrote by our ‘steemed young friend an’ skyrider poet, but the balance is in Mary V’s handwritin’.  And I claim she’s some poet!  Quit cussin’ and listen, Johnny; yo’ all never heard this ’un, and I’ll gamble on it: 

“‘Through the clouds we’ll float in my airplane boat—­’ That, there’s by Skyrider.  And here Mary V finishes it up: 

    “’For Venus I am truly sorry! 
  All the stars you sight, you witless wight,
  You’ll see when you and Venus light! 
  But then—­I’m sure that I should worry!’”

“I don’t believe she ever wrote that!” Johnny struggled up to declare passionately.  “You give that here, Bud Norris.  Worry—­sorry—­they don’t even rhyme!”

“Aw, ferget that stuff!  Witless wight’s all right, ain’t it?  I claim Mary V’s some poetry writer.  Don’t you go actin’ up jealous.  She ain’t got the jingle, mebby, but she shore is there with the big idee.”