Norman Lindsay

Bill was a small man with a large hat, a beard half as large as his hat, and feet half as large as his beard. Sam Sawnoff's feet were sitting down and his body was standing up, because his feet were so short and his body so long that he had to do both together.

"Thank you," said the Mayor, peevishly; " but, on the whole, I prefer to be restored with peeled bananas."

Bill, of course, treated this conduct with silent contempt. It was his rule through life, he said, never to fight people with beaks.

Oh, rolling round the ocean,

From a far and foreign land,

May suit the common notion

That a sailor's life is grand.But as for me, I'd sooner be

A roaring here at home

About the rolling, roaring life

Of them that sails the foam.For the homeward-bounder's chorus,

Which he roars across the foam,

Is all about chucking a sailor's life,

And settling down at home.Home, home, home,

That's the song of them that roam,

The song of the roaring, rolling sea

Is all about rolling home.

"Very well sung, Albert," said Bill encouragingly, "though you're a trifle husky in your undertones, which is no doubt due to the gravy in your innards."

O Caribbee! O Barbaree!

O shores of South Amerikee!

O, never go there: if the truth be told,

You'll get more kicks than Spanish gold.