was because she was combing her Dutch braid. It--the book--was called a
Rubaiyat by Omar Quinine, or something like that. This Omar party never
wrote a comic opera in his life. But Alla wasn't discouraged, for she
looked through every page in hopes of finding a Clearing House
certificate, but not a leaf stirred. All she came across was a marked
verse that went something like this:

"A book of verse underneath a bough,
A Jug of wine, a loaf of bread and thou
Beside me sitting in the wilderness--
Oh, wilderness is Paradise enow.

"Did you ever hear of such a short sport? Wanted to buy it by the keg
and go sit under a tree in Bronx Park. As soon as Alla run out of
language she sat down and in less than three hours doped out an answer.
I got it here on the back of her laundry list:


"A book of verse is not what I can use,
But give me, if still my love is thine,
A wine list from which to pick and choose.
Cut out the shady bough for mine.

"Give your bough to some nice 'feller,'
And if you would make my life sublime
Put me in some cool rathskeller
And we'll forget the jug of wine.

"Wine in a jug! What do I hear?
Not with a loaf of bread and thou,