_THE_ FABLE _OF_ HOW _HE_ NEVER TOUCHED GEORGE
A comic Lover named George was sitting on the Front Porch with a good
Side Hold on your old friend Mabel. They were looking into each other's
Eyes at Close Range and using a rancid Line of Nursery Talk.
It was the kind of Conversation calculated to Jar a Person.
George murmured that Mabel was George's own Baby-Daby and she Allowed
that he was a Tooney-Wooney little Bad Boy to hold his Itsy-Bitsy Bun of
a Mabel so tight she could hardly breave. It was a sort of Dialogue
that Susan B. Anthony would love to sit up Nights to Read.
While they were Clinched, Mabel's Father, a large, Self-Made Man, came
down the Stairway and out to the Veranda.
This is where the Fable begins to Differentiate.
Although the Girl's name was Mabel and the Young Man's name was George,
and the Father was a Self-Made Man, the Father did _not_ Kick the Young
Man.
He asked him if he had Anything to Smoke.
George gave him an Imported Panetella and said He didn't believe it was
going to Rain. Mabel's Father said it looked Black in the West, but he
Reckoned it might blow around, like as not. Mabel said she wouldn't be
a bit Surprised if it did blow around.
[Illustration: MABEL'S FATHER]
Mabel's Father told Mabel she could show George where the Ice-Box wuz in
case he Expressed a Hankerin', and then he went down street to examine
some Fishing Tackle just purchased by a Friend of his in the Hay and
Feed Business. Just as Father struck the Cement Walk George changed to
the Strangle Hold.