From the Evening Star, September 27, 1912. By Philander Johnson. We had another speaker down to Pohick on the Crick. We all put on our Sunday clothes an’ had ‘em neat an’ slick. We waited for his eloquence to thrill us through an’ through Deliverin’ instructions on what nations ought to do. But he never stood before us on that platform strong and high! Before he struck the steps the Miggins baby caught his eye. He grabbed it from its mother an’ he held it up to view An’ shook his finger at it while he hollered “Coochy-coo!” You should have heard the cheerin’! We set up a mighty shout! You should have seen the way fond parents trotted babies out. An’ he never turned an eyelash. To the finish he was game. He took the little fellers an’ he treated all the same. We’ll vote for him for certain. Every mother in the town Will see that every father gets the proper ballot down; Though I must confess in private, I don’t understand—do you?— Why we’d send a man to office jes’ for sayin’ “Coochy-coo!”
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