Dear Beatrice Fairfax:

Is it true that Father Coughlin and Miss Aimee Semple
McPherson and Mr. H.L. Mencken and Peter Pan?

Foolproof baby with that memorized smile,
burglarproof baby, fireproof baby with that rehearsed
appeal,
reconditioned, standardized, synchronized, amplified,
best-by-test baby with those push-the-button tears,

Your bigtime sweetheart worships you and you alone,
your goodtime friend lives for you, only you,
he loves you, trusts you, needs you, respects you, gives
for you, fascinated, mad about you,
all wrapped up in you like the accountant in the trust,
like the banker trusts the judge, like the judge
respects protection, like the gunman needs his «
needle, like the trust must give and give—

He’s with you all the way from the top of the bottle to the
final alibi,
from the handshake to the hearse, from the hearse
to the casket,
to the handles on the casket, to the nails, to the hinges,
to the satin, to the flowers, to the music, to the
prayer, to the graveyard, to the tomb,

But just the same, baby, and never forget,
it takes a neat, smart, fast, good, sweet doublecross
to doublecross the gentleman who doublecrossed the
gentleman w'ho doublecrossed
your doublecrossing, doublecrossing, doublecross friend.