From the Rock Island Argus, June 5, 1913. By S. E. Kiser. Finance is something that appears To be away beyond my ken; I’ve studied it for years and years, In common with my fellow men; But there are things about it which Are deeply mystifying yet; How is it that some men are rich And at the same time far in debt? My place in life is rather low, And I may never cease to strive; I’m poor, although I do not owe A cent to any man alive; The luxuries that come to me Are very few and very small; Things may be as they ought to be, But I can’t understand at all. They say that old man Billingsworth Owes money almost everywhere; His people travel o’er the earth, And never seem to have a care; With eighty thousand dollars less Than nothing he is living high, And looks with splendid haughtiness Down on such humble ones as I. He has a long, low, rakish car In which he proudly rides about; He smokes a large and good cigar And always has his chest pushed out; The house in which he dwells is grand, His wife wears gems that cost a pile; His son has never turned a hand, His daughters dress in queenly style. He does not labor day by day, As I and those around me do; He’s very deep in debt, they say, And always sinking deeper, too; Yet, worse than merely penniless, He shines where I would have no chance; The simple truth must be, I guess, That I can’t understand finance.