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Poem	Twain? Oh, yes, I’ve heard Mark Twain Heard him down to Pleasant Plain; Funny? Yes, I guess so. Folks Seemed to laugh loud at his jokes— Laughed to beat the band; but I Couldn’t rightly make out why. Guess his humor ain’t refined. Quite enough to suit my mind. Mark’s all right—right clever speaker— But he can’t touch Jabed Meeker; And one thing that makes it queer Is that Jabed lives right here. You ain’t met him? Son, you’ve missed The most funniest humorist I’ve met with in my born days— Funniest talker, anyways, When it comes to repartee— That’s the humor catches me! Like a specimen? Huh! Well, Take, for instance, his umbrell; Wouldn’t think, until he spoke, He could turn that to a joke; Mark Twain couldn’t, bet you that! That’s where Meeker beats Mark flat! Just imagine three or four Fellers in Jim Beemer’s store— ‘Long comes Meeker, and some feller Says, “See Meeker’s bum umbreller.” Quick as lightning Meeker ‘d yell: “Don’t you guy my bumberell! Where’s the feller dares to hoot At this sping-spang bumbershoot? Show me some one dares to call Bad names at my bumbersoll!” Right like that! Right off the reel! Say, you’d ought to heard us squeal! Then, before we’d got our breath, Meeker, solemn sad as death, Says: “Stand up there ‘gainst that wall, Para-bumber-shooter-soll!” Twain? All right! But just give me Some one slick at repartee!
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