From the Perth Amboy Evening News, January 10, 1913. By Walt Mason. At 8 o’clock on New Year’s day, I heard Bill Wax, my neighbor, say: “This year will see me leave the hole In which I’ve long immersed my soul; That hole is Debt, and from its deeps I’ll drag myself, this time for keeps. My bank account must be enlarged; I’ll buy no goods and have them charged; Collectors won’t be on my track, Nor bailiffs camped around my shack. I’ll cut out porterhouse and pie, And pay for everything I buy, And when the year is growing gray I’ll have a bundle put away. This vow I surely won’t forget— I’m bound to take a fall from Debt!” For many years on New Year’s day Old William Wax has talked this way; He’s asked the gods to witness vows As rigid as the law allows, And for two weeks or maybe three Old Bill’s as righteous as can be. And then he sees a watch or gun He needs so bad! He has no mon, And so he has the blame thing chalked; And then, such weary roads he’s walked, He buys a horse to rest his frame, And gives his note—the same old game; And when the year is growing old The merchants clamor for their gold, And Bill’s afraid to go out doors To be run down by creditors. Alas for Bill! Alas for all Who have their backs against the wall, Their noses on the grinding stone, Because they can’t let Debt alone!
Tag: Walt Mason
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Good Resolutions
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The Silent Man
From the Evening Star, October 9, 1912. By Walt Mason. Judge Rinktum makes no foolish breaks, no blunders bald or shocking; he goes his way day after day, and no one hears him talking. He answers “no” in accents low when some one asks a question, or murmurs “yes,” as in distress from verbal indigestion. He won’t debate, he won’t orate, or break his solemn quiet; he shakes his head—all has been said—he wants no wordy riot. So in the town he has renown as being crammed with knowledge; his bunch of brains more lore contains than Yale or Harvard college. We’re proud of him, this jurist grim, this man who never chatters; the referee and umpire he in all our village matters. The dames are proud when he has bowed in stately recognition; if Rinktum stands and shakes your hands, he betters your condition. Yet this old boy, our pride and joy, whom some consider greater than Cicero or G. Pinchot, is but a selling plater. If he should drain his massive brain and take out all that’s in it, he wouldn’t need to do the deed, much more than half a minute. Oh, just look wise and you will rise and have good things before you; but talk too much and you’re in Dutch, and no one will adore you.