Shippy drove his rattletrap cart along Through the dusty evening, worried and ill at ease. He ought to have taken the other road by the creek But he’d wasted too much time at Pollet’s Hotel Looking for Sophy⁠—and hardly seen her at that⁠— And now she wanted a bottle of scent. His soul Shivered with fear like a thin dog in the cold, Raging in vain at the terrible thing called Life. —There must be a corner somewhere where you could creep, Curl up soft and be warm⁠—but he’d never found it. The big boys always stole his lunch at the school And rubbed his nose in the dirt⁠—and when he grew up It was just the same. There was something under his face, Something that said, “Come, bully me⁠—I won’t bite.” He couldn’t see it himself, but it must be there. He was always going places and thinking, “This time, They won’t find out.” But they always did find out After a while. It had been that way at the store, That way in the army, that way now as a spy. Behind his eyes he built up a super-Shippy