A civil, quick, and steady lad
Was wanting once a place,
But nobody would hire him,
He'd such a dirty face.
In vain at waiting on the cook
He showed his happy knack,
For she declared against a boy
Whose hands were always black.
He tried to plead how quickly he
Could heat and clean her oven,
But she turned from him in disgust,
And called him "dirty sloven."
[Illustration]
Poor boy, I really felt for him,
And longed to take him in,
When, lo? another lad appeared,
As neat as a new pin.
And who could doubt between the two,
He quickly lost all hope;
Yet was the only difference
Caused by a little soap.
[Illustration]