Ogilvie, A. V., mercer, florid, fat and fair;
Could kid a man to wear a suit of goat or camel hair.
O'Callaghan, T. J., bank clerk, as a “ped” the fastest we have known.
Why is he like an aeroplane? Why, simply because he’s flown.
O’Neill, L. M., postal clerk, an apprentice rather shy;
If he got the “glad” from a cuddlesome tart, would straight to Mummy fly.
Oxenham, S. V., bailiff, once seized some beef and pork
But simply couldn’t hold it, for it began to walk.
Peebles, H. V., ex-soldier, quiet, has not so much to say,
But the sort that always “gets” there—they’re often built that way.
Pendergast, W. P., stoker, a light provides for the dark;
A boom and blessing everywhere, except—in a quiet park.
Rathbun, W. J., grocer, in Hades a celluloid cat;
Would have as much chance to get him, as getting a celluloid rat.
Roberts, J. V., ex-soldier, a singer of renown;
Fifty pounds to back ’against anything in town.
Roberts, T. V., ex-soldier, says that now the war is o’er,
It ought to be 10 o’clock license, same as it was before.
Rose, C. H., land salesman, will “rise,” yes that is a “cinch,”
For he’s already “risen” in the firm of J. D. Lynch.
Rugg, C. C., carrier, plays the hungry school boy’s part,
And always wants a dozen—no good to him, one tart.
Ryan, T. P., ex-soldier, a “babbling brook” at the war;
Natural fighting instinct, Irish to the core.
Shrives, F. R., ex-soldier, will answer you straight and well,
That you can’t be a man and a wowser, that you sure go to hell.
Smith H. H., ex-soldier, lives on epicurian fare—
Mountain duck, asparagus, green peas and caviare
Smith, W. V., tailor, though he’s always all forlorn
“Cut out,” “fitted,” “suited,” for his trade was born.
