Economist at
It was a sunny afternoon
At story-telling time.
Old Kaspar chose a fresh cigar
and sipped his rum-and-lime,
While Peterkin and Wilhelmine
Looked at the futurama screen.
They saw a large commercial bank
Beside a busy street;
And men who marched and counter marched,
Like soldiers on a beat,
Or stood in solid, rigid lines
Presenting sandwich boards and signs.
“Now tell us what it’s all about,”
The little children cried.
“It is the Robbers’ Brotherhood,”
Old Kaspar then replied;
“These men parade with stamp and swank
While other members rob the bank.”
“Why don’t the Cops arrest them all?”
Asked little Peterkin.
“The Cops belong to unions, too,”
Said Kaspar with a grin;
“They’d rather boil in oil or brine
Than cross a union picket line.”
“Then must we let the Robbers go,
To rob another day?”
“The Cops would catch them,” Kaspar said,
“If they could find a way;
But union ethics make it clear
A picket line is sacred, dear.”
