He was a wonderful Metropolitan singer.
His name had been blazoned over these United States,
And in Europe it was as well known.
Records of him could be bought in the smallest hamlet;
Nothing but praise had been shed upon the glory of his name.
In May he was scheduled to sing in Chicago
At a festival where thousands were to foregather
To do praise to him and his voice.
Two days before he left, he came to his manager's office
With a sickly expression all over his rotund face
And a deathly gasp in his voice.
One thought he needed a doctor,
Or the first aid of some Red Cross nurses.
He was ushered into the private office
To find out his trouble.
This was his lament in short;
A friend, in the hurry of the moment,
Had procured tickets for him on the Twentieth Century
Which demanded an extra fare of six dollars,--
And he wanted to ride on the cheapest train.
So we got him tickets on another road
Which takes thirty six hours to Chicago and perhaps more,
And the great singer, whose name has been blazoned over these United States
And was as well known in Europe,
Walked out contented and smiling like a young boy.