PUFFSKY knew not how to live,
But only how to sell,
And strange it is--this truth to tell--
That he was never known to give
And never known to buy.
Crack salesman of his time,
He kept financiers wondering why He found such means to multiply
His wealth yet never parted with a dime.
He sold by night, he sold by day,
Sold long, sold short, sold anyway;
He'd sell his teeth, he'd sell his eyes: it made
No difference to his trade
No matter what he sold--
Bottles, gases, oils, or foods--
The other fellow took the goods,
But Puffsky took the gold.
And yet alas!
One night it came to pass
That just the hour that Puffsky died,
He still assumed the bargain-rôle,
For, shambling up to God, he tried
To dicker with his soul.
And the good Lord sized him up and down,
And looked him through and through,
As he would a parvenu;
And then replied with darkening frown,
As Puffsky wedged his foot against the door,
"Sirrah--you may think it strange,
But on the floor
Of this Exchange
We neither barter, buy, nor sell,
And neither dime nor rusty sou
Have we to offer you":
And whereupon the Lord adjusted well