From The Topeka State Journal, February 6, 1914. By Roy K. Moulton.
They’ve got him in a padded cell,
He raves from morn till night.
He has a pencil and a slate,
And writes with all his might.
He sets a lot of figures down,
Then rubs them out again,
Upon his face there is a look
That is akin to pain.
He’s had this slate for seven months,
The pencil squeaks and squeaks;
He concentrates upon the job,
And never sanely speaks.
They’re watching him both day and night,
Their care is never lax.
He’s trying but to figure out
His income tax.
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