Rhodes, Slave! Selling Shoes And Gingham, Flour And Bacon, Overalls, Clothing, All Day Long For Fourteen Hours A Day For Three Hundred And Thirteen Days For More Than Twenty Years. Saying "Yes'M" And "Yes, Sir", And "Thank You" A Thousand Times A Day, And All For Fifty Dollars A Month. Living In This Stinking Room In The Rattle-Trap "Commercial." And Compelled To Go To Sunday School, And To Listen To The Rev. Abner Peet One Hundred And Four Times A Year For More Than An Hour At A Time, Because Thomas Rhodes Ran The Church As Well As The Store And The Bank. So While I Was Tying My Neck-Tie That Morning I Suddenly Saw Myself In The Glass: My Hair All Gray, My Face Like A Sodden Pie. So I Cursed And Cursed: You Damned Old Thing You Cowardly Dog! You Rotten Pauper! You Rhodes' Slave! Till Roger Baughman Thought I Was Having A Fight With Some One, And Looked Through The Transom Just In Time To See Me Fall On The Floor In A Heap From A Broken Vein In My Head.