1, first chop poetry that can't be beat." And then as the others screamed with laughter Tom went on: "A little boy, A can of powder, A scratch, a flash-- He's gone to chowder!" "Oh, Tom, what horrible poetry!" cried Nellie, as she shivered.
"Well, I couldn't help it," he said.

"I had to say something or--or bust! Perhaps this will suit you better," and he continued: "A little boy, A great big gun, A father yelling On the run.
The trigger falls, There is a roar.
The father halts-- The danger's o'er." "Tom, you're positively the worst boy ever!" said Nellie, but the way she spoke told she meant just the opposite.
"I tell you vot ve vos do, Tom," suggested Hans.

"Ve vos form a boetry association alretty, hey?
Songpirt can be der bresident." "What will you be, secretary ?" asked Fred.
"No, I vos peen treasurer," answered Hans.
"Hans wants the money," put in Dick.
"Dot's it," answered the German youth calmly.

"Ven dem udder fellers makes up pad verses I vos fine dem a tollar, und ven I gits enough tollars I skip me to Canada or Mexigo, hey ?" And he said this so comically everybody had to laugh.
The automobiles had been ordered down to the dock and were already in waiting.

Each was in charge of a chauffeur, and soon the boys and girls went ashore and piled in.