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From The Topeka State Journal, February 6, 1914. By Roy K. Moulton.

They’ve got him in a padded cell,
    He raves from morn till night.
He has a pencil and a slate,
    And writes with all his might.

He sets a lot of figures down,
    Then rubs them out again,
Upon his face there is a look
    That is akin to pain.

He’s had this slate for seven months,
    The pencil squeaks and squeaks;
He concentrates upon the job,
    And never sanely speaks.

They’re watching him both day and night,
    Their care is never lax.
He’s trying but to figure out
    His income tax.

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