﻿WORTH HIS SALT —By T-BONE SLIM 
(Abilene, Salina and Topeka papers please copy) 

It is civil cowardice to be backward in asserting what you ought to expect. —Steele 

Now I wish to record, 
With considerable pain, 
That the day of free board 
Lies a-ravished and slain 
And the wiles of the “moocher” confounded, 
Circumvented, denied of all gain. 
 
Long the “moocher” had ruled 
By strategical might 
Being thoroly schooled 
In the ways of “the sleight”— 
And the way he manhandled the merchant! 
Was a caution — indeed, ‘twas a fright. 
 
He would enter the marts 
Of the gentlemen hale— 
With ingenious arts 
Separate them from kale! 
Not to mention cracked eggs and boloney, 
And the bread, very brittle and stale. 
 
Right before custmers! 
He would blurt out his grief 
As to how, “‘my dear sirs, 
I am all out of beef — 
And my soul cries aloud for sustenance; 
For assistance, dear sir, and relief.” 
 
The great merchant turns sick 
And his thoughts fairly spin. 
And he moans “It’s a trick!” 
While the customers grin — 
But he hastens to help the poor “moocher”. 
Just to show he is free of all sin. 
 
‘Twas too deep for the “prince”, 
This here system of graft. 
And it made his heart wince, 
Almost drove the man daft— 
Where he used to be pleasant and merry— 
Very seldom he now ever laughted. 
 
But a “traveler” betrayed 
His poor pals of the road; 
To the merchant essayed 
And unbosomed a load 
As to how to combat the road-orphan 
How to dull the perfidious goad. 
 
“Organize ye ‘a chest.’ 
A community ‘ffair 
And direct every guest 
To apply there for fare 
“It will save you n lot of discomfort : 
Show the folks you are doing your share.” 
 
“But you need not donate 
To the onerous thing 
Let it hand out ‘red-tape’, 
To the ‘bo’ and the ‘ding’ 
And you’ll find that your troubles are ended 
To your person more profits will cling” 
 
“But it may be unwise! 
(This is more than a guess) 
Hospitality dies 
An unnatural death; 
The community mourns of its passing 
And in turn, it throws-in its last breath. 
 
“What is then all your dough. 
In your strong boxes decked? 
With your friendliness low 
And your fellowship wrecked? 
When your neighbor is sour and suspicious. 
And your moves are appraised and re-checked. 
 
“All your mountains of gold 
Are but pewter and lead 
All the wealth you withhold, 
Are but faces unfed — 
Generosity dead is your trophy, 
Ravished charity flics at your head.” 
 
“Ho hom, ‘Father forgive them,’ 
For they know not a lot, 
And their crude stratagem 
Is imbecilic rot; 
Unintentional national poison — 
Its effects are far reaching—I wot.” 
 
Then the commercial club 
Got to feeling quite gay. 
And elected to rub 
Certain furs the wrong way— 
All the cats grew exceedingly mournful 
And their hearts filled with startled dismay. 
 
For the honorable body 
Cogitated, agreed 
That the gentlemen shoddy 
Should be weened from their feed 
A resolve both rambunctions and surly— 
And so it was ordered, decreed: 
 
“That no matter what comes, 
Every hobo must fast; 
Not a handout to bums, 
Nary tramp shall repast— 
On this we’re united, determined! 
And there isn’t no use for to ast.” 
 
All the heavens turned gray, 
And the sun was a blot. 
Human blood turned to whey 
And “the future” lookt hot— 
On account of that raw ultimatum — 
On account of inane tommy rot. 
 
Then arose “Jumbo Dutch” 
With a terrible screetch 
And he threw in his clutch 
For to turn out a speech 
“Feller citizens, gents of the jungles: 
I’m afraid that our sunburn will bleach.” 
 
“We’ve got nothing to eat 
Except bullheads and corn 
Some potatoes and meat— 
And our feelings is tom I 
Not a mouthful of cold slaw — or sour kraut, 
And the cabbages yet to be born!” 
 
“If those merchantmen hoard 
And their ‘duties’ discharge, 
It will ruin our board 
And no canned-goods we’ll carve 
It is simply an awful predicament, 
In the raw, we are foredoomed to starve. 
 
“Great affluence and power 
Never entered our plan 
But to live ‘by the hour’ 
And to die like a man! 
Which is now—shed your tears O, compatriots! 
We must scrap the old Ja-Mocha can! 
 
“By commercial ‘state’ 
We’re commanded to halt 
And enslaved to a fate 
To subsist by default— 
Are we then to outrun those jack rabbits? 
They to turn down their thumbs on our salt?”