(_By a Rural Innkeeper, who has been "had."_)
They come to me (a poor old chap!)
And take one room--mostly the same;
A quiet spot, they say, for Nap:
(But "Crib's" their real game.)
Their luggage is a smallish trunk,
A whopping walking-stick--alway!
When for a month they've fed and drunk,
I gently hint at pay.
They say, "Why, certainly! They mean
To dwell some months beneath my roof.
So happy they have _never_ been!"
(I think they call this "Spoof.")
They swear my wife's the best of cooks,
They hint they're half in love with SUKEY,
My daughter, who _can_ boast good looks
(And here begins Blind Hookey).
Then, when they're some more weeks in debt,
I tell them Tick's last door is shut;
When--their knave's tricks not ended yet--
They shuffle--pack--and _cut_!
* * * * *