V.
The music stopped. All stood agape.
No one attending could mistake
th' import of this: Good, Bad together,
standing there, as if they neither
had a care—as Justice, blind,
would have it so, if only all who
saw the sight would take to heart
this prom'sing start. But Gene,
the mayor of the bunch, strode forth
to Ralph, and crossed his arms. "Pray tell
us all, now—tell us—what fresh hell
means this intrusion you have made,
upon our revels? Go on, say."
"Quite nice to see you also, Gene",
said Ralph. "You know, of course, that I
have certainly a quite large part
of why we're here—as without me,
what would ol' Felix have to fix?
What's wrong? Cat got your tongue?"—Just then,
out came the cake, and all repaired
to gaze upon this work of art
by Mary baked. Just like the building
did it look—each part of it
was made to taste the fav'rite way
each res'dent liked to have their cake.
For instance, heavy drinker Gene:
six parts gin to one vermouth,
the penthouse was.
Atop this tow'ring work of art
stood figures—and of these, the part
of greatest man: Fix-it himself,
with medal gold, hung from his neck.
But Ralph, who did not firstly see
his own place in this firmament,
did finally spy his own shape—"Why,
there's me! It's rather—horrible;
I'm in the mud, as often goes
the game for me." He spoke: "Oh, Mary,
please do tell—what flavor this,
in which I dwell?" "That's chocolate."
"Really? I have never been
such a big fan of that, no ma'am."
"I did not know that", Mary said.
"Oh, one more thing I might suggest—
this angry little person here—"
his figure own, he now did take—
"might smile a bit, if he were put
upon the roof, with all of you;
to breathe rare air, and enjoy the view."
Then on the roof he placed himself,
and with piledriver hands he made
himself to smile. "There! Look—ah, he's much
happier now."
Pugnacious Gene would not let stand
this insult thrown into his face. "No,
no, Ralph, that will never do.
Your place is here—there is no room."
"Room at the top? Well, how 'bout this?"
said Ralph, who, rising to the fray,
put Felix down—the figure, mind you—
into the little patch of mud
Ralph frequented most every day.
"We can take turns." "Er, shall we dine?"
asked Felix, shaking in his boots.
"Now that's just stupid", Gene replied.
"Our Felix on the roof must stand,
for he's about to get his medal."
And with that, cold fiery Gene,
knocked the avatar of Ralph
from off the roof. To ground it went.
"How about we try this once?
Ralph gets a medal. It's not as if
I'm not important to this game.
To get a medal would not hurt
a one of you, and would, in truth,
assuage much of my daily pain
I feel so much from "being bad"."
"Oh, stuff and nonsense! Now you rave
of getting medals! Know you not
that Bad Guys do not medals win?!"
Cried Ralph, "I could without a sweat
be Good, and bring a medal here."
Gene said, "Harrumph! You're mad.
Well, if you ever do this thing,
come talk to us—we'll let you in,
and give you pies and cakes and such.
But listen now—this will not be!
My good sir, you are nothing but
a Bad Guy who our building wrecks,
and does no good." "I'm not!" "You are!"
Ralph's ire increased, and in a flash,
he did what came to him involun',
he raised his arms, fists clenched, and then—
brought them upon the table down,
cake in the way. 'Twas cake no more.
All stopped. With measured glare said Ralph
to Gene: "All right. You'll see. I'll bring
a shiny medal back here soon
whose lumin'ence would light a room.
The medals Felix daily wins
will wet their pants! You mark my words!
Thanks for the cake! Good night! Sleep well!"
And saying thus, he did depart.
"He does not jest, it seems to me",
said one, but angry in reply,
said Gene: "The fool—I fathom not
where he thinks he will get this thing.
No Bad Guy ever got a medal!
Let him go hang—now, all, let's try
to put this Bad Guy out of mind—
On with the show! Good health to you!"