He sat in his door at noonday, lonesome…
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He sat in his door at noonday, lonesome
and glum and sad ; the flies were buzzing about
him, led by a blue winged “gad.” Not a sign
of business was there, but the flies kept on buzz-
ing about the old man’s hair. At last in misery
he shouted: “Great Scott! I’m covered with
flies.” And the zephyrs that toyed with his
whiskers whispered, “Why don’t you adver-
tise?”