AN INTERVIEW

I met him down upon the pier; His eyes were wild and sad, And something in them made me fear That he was going mad.

So, being of a prudent sort, I stood some distance off, And before speaking gave a short Conciliatory cough.

I then observed, ‘What makes you look So singularly glum?’ No notice of my words he took. I said, ‘Pray, are you dumb?’

‘Oh no!’ he said, ‘I do not think My power of speech is lost, But when one’s hopes are black as ink, Why, talking is a frost.

‘You see, I’m in for Math. again, And certain to be ploughed. Please tell me where I could obtain An inexpensive shroud.’

I told him where such things are had, Well made, and not too dear; And, feeling really very sad, I left him on the pier.