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The "Cutting" Hour
Twixt half-past eight and lunch lime,
When routine's beginning to lower,
Comes a pause in the day's occupation
That is known as the "Cutting Hour."
I hear in the halls above me
The clatter of many feet.
The sounds of the doors that are opened.
And voices shrill, but sweet.
But my ears are deaf to their laughter,
And the bell's insistent call;
Temptation easily won me,
I even rejoiced in my fall!
In the Bum Room's benevolent shelter,
I eagerly searched my clothes
For Ihe "Joy Pipe" I knew was concealed there,
And settled down to repose.
The "Barracks" grow dim and hazy
Harsh outlines fade away.
And the Persian glow of the "Harem"
Comes in their place to stay.
A sudden rush from the corner,
A sudden raid from the stair.
If I try to escajje they surround me,
They seem to be eveiwwhere.
They almost devour me with kisses,
Their arms about me entAvine;
"My, ain't I glad I'm a Sultan!
To (Perdition) Avith Politics 9."
Crash! and the vision faded,
(leorge looked in at the door:
"It's time for class, young feller,"
And the "Sultan" rose up and swore.
page two hundred and forty-nine