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Others, unfortunately, will be less easily satisfied. A cynicism concerning the future careers of precocious children is one of the rigid fundamentals of nearly every mind. It has, no doubt, a valid basis. But, for that reason, Nathalia’s future, probably very dark in popular prospect, threatens to shade her present. That is why I offered at the outset, as a point of information, the comment on Nathalia’s general attitude toward life. Nathalia, I am sure, sees no reason why anybody else should read these poems with an eye any further ahead in time than this afternoon’s sunset. She is content to leave the verdict, so far as posterity is concerned, to her own grandchildren.

Nunnally Johnson

Brooklyn, N. Y., May, 1924.

THE JANITOR’S BOY

AND OTHER POEMS

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Oh I’m in love with the janitor’s boy,

And the janitor’s boy loves me;

He’s going to hunt for a desert isle

In our geography.

A desert isle with spicy trees

Somewhere near Sheepshead Bay;

A right nice place, just fit for two