Peter Sheaf Hersey Newell (March 5, 1862 – January 15, 1924) was
an American artist and writer. He created picture books and illustrated
new editions of many children's books. The Rocket Book was published 1912.
Went snooping in the basement,
He found a rocket snugly hid
Beneath the window casement,
Beneath the window casement,
He struck a match with one fell swoop;
Then, on the concrete kneeling,
He lit the rocket and - she - oop!
It shot up through the ceiling.
First Flat
The Steiners on the floor aboveOf breakfast were partaking;
Crash! came the rocket, unannounced,
And set them all a-quaking!
It smote a catsup bottle, fair,
And bang! the thing exploded!
And now these people all declare
That catsup flask was loaded.
Dozed in his arm-chair big,
When from a trunk the rocket burst
And carried off his wig!
It passed so near his ancient head
He roused up with a start,
And, turning to his grandsons, said,
"You fellows think you're smart!"
Had blown a monster bubble,
When, oh! there came a blinding flash,
Precipitating trouble!
But Algy turned in mild disgust,
And called to Mama Bracket,
"Say, did you hear that bubble bu^st?
It made an awful racket!"
Sixteenth Flat
Was dosing it with water.
He fancied this would make it grow,
And Joseph loved to potter.
Then through the pot the rocket shot
And made the scene look sickly!
"Well, now," said Jo, "I never thought
That plant would shoot so quickly!"
That Dick and "Little Son"
Were playing with a Noah's ark
And having loads of fun,
When all at once that rocket, stout,
Up through the ark came blazing!
The animals were tossed about
And did some stunts amazing.
The sideboard was exploring.
(The familiy, with the brindled pup,
Were still asleep and snoring.)
Just then, up through the silverware
The rocket thundered, flaring!
The Burglar got a dreadful scare;
Then out the door went tearing.
Was playing "Casey's Fling"
To please her cousin, Amos Gill,
Who liked that sort of thing.
When suddenly the rocket, hot,
The old piano jumbled!
It stopped that rag-time like a shot,
Then through the ceiling rumbled.
That rocket, dread, went tearing
Where Winkle stood in bath-robe, gay,
A tepid bath preparing.
The tub it punctured like a shot
And made a mighty splashing.
The man was rooted to the spot;
Then out the door went dashing.
Ninth Flat
Bob Brooks was puffing very hard
His football to inflate,
While round him stood his faithful guard,
And they could hardly wait.
Then came the rocket, fierce and bright,
And through the football rumbled.
"You've got a pair of lungs, all right!"
His starting playmates grumbled.
Tenth Flat
Was chasing Fluff, the Mouser,
When, poof! the rocket flashed between,
And quite astonished Towzer.
Now, if this dog had wit enough
The English tongue to torture,
He might have growled such silly stuff
As, "Whew! that cat's a scorcher!"
Eleventh Flat
The phonograph played sweetly,
Then came the rocket and it smashed
That instrument completely.
Fair Carrie promptly turned her head,
Attracted by the roar.
"Dear me, I never heard," she sazd,
"That record played before!"
Twelfth Flat
De Vere was searching for a match
To light a cigarette,
But failed to find one with despatch,
Which threw him in a pet.
Just then the rocket flared up bright
Before his face and crackled,
Supplying him the needed light -
"Thanks, awfully," he cackled.
A hat of monstrous size!
It almost filled the tiny flat
Before her ravished eyes.
When, sch-u-u! up through the box so proud
The rocket flared and spluttered.
"I said that was all too loud!"
Her peevish husband muttered.
And all would have been fine
Had not the rocket, raiseng Cain,
Blocked traffic onthe line.
It blew the engine into scrap,
As in a fit of passion.
"Who would have thought that toy," said pap,
"Would blow up in such fashion!"
The "Morning Star" was reading.
"My dear," said he to Mrs. Pease,
"Here's a report worth reading."
The rocket then in wanton sport
Flashed through the printed pages.
The lady gasped, "A wild report!"
Then swooned by easy stages.
Sixteenth Flat
So, lest he sleep to late,
He placed a tattoo clock near by
To waken him at eight.
But, ah! the rocket smote that clock
And smashed its way clean through it!
"You have a fine alarm," said Doc,
"But, say, you overdo it!"
Was writing a description,
"The flame shot up," he pounded out -
Then threw a mild conniption.
For through his Flemington there shied
Arocket, hot and mystic.
"I didn't mean to be," he cried,
"So deuced realistic!"
Upon some strange invention.
"Be careful, Gus," his good wife said;
"It might explode. I mention -"
Just then the pesky rocket flared
And wrecked that Yankeenotion.
"I feared as much!" his wife declared;
Then fainted from emotion.
And riding it like mad,
The rocket on its fiery course
Upset the starled lad.
The frightened pony plunged a lot,
Like Fury playing tag.
"Whoa, Spot!" said Burt. "Who would have thought
You such a fiery nag!"
Upon a walrus' head.
It really made him quite afraid
To meet its stare so dread.
When suddenly the rocket, bright,
Flared up and then was off!
"Oh, Minnie," cried the man in fright,
"Just hear that walrus cough!"
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