Tall, active, round, with military air, With grey moustache, and slowly whitening hair, With genial smile, yet resolute though bland, The Chairman stood, a letter in his hand.
The Secretary near him, tall and stout, Was there to help him thrash the matter out.
Short, active, round, the Engineer stood The ever-present twinkle in his eye. "What's this," the Chairman said, the Council write An offer of our business they invite They want to buy us out! At last they want Our pipes, our pumps, our engines, all our plant Our reservoirs, our chimneys short and tall, Our water-tower, our hydrants, just our all!
Yen years we've struggled, anxiously seen rise Our chimney, iron-crowned, to pierce the skies.
Ten patient years for dividends we've waited,—The profit that our Hart first caleulated—
'Yen yeats we've borne our customers'
complaints, Complaints that would have aggravated saints, They said our filtering wasn't worth a rap, Que mau declared an eel came through his tap!
They said our plumbing was a thing to scorn—But then the honest plumber's still unborn—
Their pipes all burst at winter's icy touch They're even dared to say we charge too much Malice alone such charges could invent, We've not yet made a modest eight per cent.
We never looked for mercenary gains, "twas pure philanthropy inspired our pains.
For years Shanghai, absorbed in making wealth, Careless alike of cleanliness and health, Relied for water on deceptive wells, Of whose dark mysteries rumour shuddering tells.
Or sent its coolies through the Whangpoo mud, dip their buckets in its dirty flood. Our great Hart leaped up at the ghastly sight, 'Onrs be the task,' he said, to put it Tight Shanghai shall have clean water, as it ought."
Not fame nor coin, riv sordid gain he sought He gathered round him all the good and great, Bristled with scheme, with plan, with estimate Water his daily thought, his nightly topic, He plumbed the purses of the philan-tropic.
And thus emerged, when all his work was done, The mighty Company which now we run!
He ceased, and Secret'ry and Engineer ropped, as he ceased, a sympathetic tear.
Then down they sat, with calculation ce Yo figure out the very lowest pri At first the Secretary's courage fails "We've only got seven hundred thousand taels In our last balance sheet!" 'I'he Chairman turned "There's all the dividends we've never earned Put them in first; and, as it's too low still, Double at least the assets for goodwill! Then, as a nice round sum we must present, Add to the whole some twenty-five per cent.
Then lest some unappeased shareholder rails, We'll make the sum up to two million taels!
Two million taels, a very moderate figure, I think it ought to be a little big We'll say not less, and though the Council scoff, I think two million taels will choke them off!"
When Shanghai tells its heroes as it oughter, These names at least will not be " writ in water!"
Text read from the printed page and cleaned; old type leaves the occasional error.