Edgar Albert Guest
Ma has a dandy little book that’s full of narrow
   slips,
 An’ when she wants to pay a bill a page from
   it she rips;
 She just writes in the dollars and the cents and
   signs her name
 An’ that’s as good as money, though it doesn’t
   look the same.
 When she wants another bonnet or some
   feathers for her neck,
 She promptly goes an’ gets 'em, an’ she writes
   another check.
 I don’t just understand it, but I know she
   sputters when
 Pa says to her at supper:  'Well!  You’re
   overdrawn again!’
 
 Ma’s not a business woman, she is much too
   kind of heart
 To squabble over pennies or to play a selfish
   part,
 An’ when someone asks for money, she’s not
   one to stop an’ think
 Of a little piece of paper an’ the cost of pen
   an’ ink.
 She just tells him very sweetly if he’ll only
   wait a bit
 An’ be seated in the parlor, she will write a
   check for it.
 She can write one out for twenty just as easily
   as ten,
 An’ forgets that Pa may grumble:  'Well,
   you’re overdrawn again!’
 
 Pa says it looks as though he’ll have to start in
   workin’ nights
 To gather in the money for the checks that
   mother writes.
 He says that every morning when he’s summoned
   to the phone,
 He’s afraid the bank is calling to make mother’s
   shortage known.
 He tells his friends if ever anything our fortune
   wrecks
 They can trace it to the moment mother started
   writing checks.
 He’s got so that he trembles when he sees her
   fountain pen
 An’ he mutters:  'Do be careful!  You’ll be
   overdrawn again!’
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