Barbarous Allen

All in the merry month of March,
When the tax collector’s callin’,
Sweet William took a club and went
To call on Barbarous Allen.

He bopped him once, he bonked him twice,
He barfed him three times runnin’.
Said Allen with a sad sweet smile:
“Young man, you’re simply stunnin’.”

He lived alone up in his eave
But by his pets was che-ered:
The bats that nested in his ears,
The buzzard in his be-ard.

Sweet William said: “You stole my gal.
Now give me back my Ellen!”
“I don’t think you could carry her down
The hill,” said Barbarous Allen.

And then he took a naily club
And whopped sweet William strongly.
His American blood flowed red, white, and blue.
(He never voted wrongly.)

Said William: “Now it is my turn.
Hold still, you Barbarous Allen.”
He whonked him hard; his club was like
A redwood pine tree (for the sake of the meter) fallin’.

Then Allen bashed, and William smashed,
Until the sun was fallin’
And finally the hermit crashed
To earth, did Barbarous Allen.

Said William, speakin’ to the cave:
“Come out, my gentle Ellen.
Go home with me, for now you’re saved
From cruel Barbarous Allen.”

And out she came, and whacked him good.
Go home, you rat,” said Ellen.
“The whole damn township ain’t as much
A (wow!) MAN as Barbarous Allen!”

Welcome

Barlow’s first astonishment was at how little different the future seemed. He had thought that five hundred years would change every detail beyond imagination. To be sure, nothing was quite like the twentieth century United States; but contemporary Mexico had been a good deal more exotic than the North American Federation of the United World Republics looked.

Several persons awaited him when he emerged from the superenergy state. All but one were men, ranging from boyish to middle-aged: two Orientals, a Negro, the others white. They wore shirts, trousers, and fabric shoes, of synthetic material in subdued colors, cut much like Barlow’s. One had a sleek pistol-like weapon in a holster, but left it there, unafraid of the newcomer. They all gathered around, made sympathetic noises in accented but recognizable English, led him to a couch and gave him a drink. The room was windowless, with a fluorescent ceiling and ventilator grilles. A workbench supported miscellaneous scientific equipment, most of which Barlow could identify.

“Heh, now, buddo, swallow this an’ you’ll feel better.”

Barlow obeyed mechanically. He had a bad case of the shakes. A gentle, relaxing warmth spread through him. Within minutes he could regard his situation as calmly as if it were someone else’s. He felt happy, his mind clearer and quicker than usual. And yet, he thought, this was not so different from the tranquilizers of his era.

“I guess he’s ’kay now, Joe,” said a young man.

The oldest, who appeared to be the leader, nodded. “How’re you?” he smiled, offering his hand. ‘‘I’m Joe Grozen. Here’s my primary daughter Amily. She ’nsisted on seeing you arrive. I won’ ask you to ’member any other names right off.”