The British STRUWWELPETER

The Story of Anthony, the Boy Who Knew Too Much
Anthony, though not unkind,Had a disbelieving mind.At a pantomime or playAnthony would yawn and say,"Let's go home–for I perceiveThis is merely make-believe."When his mother came and readStory-books to him in bedAnthony would shake his head"Mother, dear, I've had enoughOf this wishy-washy stuff.If it's all the same to youKindly read me something true."So his mother, with a sigh,Meekly laying fiction by,Read him books about machines,And scientific magazines.
Christmas time came round once more.See him sitting on the floorAt a party, after heHas enjoyed a sumptuous tea.Solemnly the Conjurer standsSpreading out his empty hands:Then from nose and ears he haulsHalf-a-dozen billiard-balls,Shows them with a smile, and thenMakes them disappear again.Children clap him with a will:Only Anthony sits still,Saying loudly, "I believeThat he's got them up his sleeve."
The Conjurer, who must have heard,Looked at him, but said no word.
So with all his other tricks:Flour and butter he would mixIn a bowl, and "One–two–three!"There the finished cake would be.Loud applause–but AnthonyMerely said, "Well, I believeThat he had it up his sleeve."
Coins he'd find in Susan's hairWhich she didn't know were there;Handkerchiefs of every hueHe would draw from Edward's shoe,And produce, as pat as pat,Rabbits from an empty hat.All the other girls and boysLaughed and clapped with merry noise:But Anthony said, "I believeHe had the whole lot up his sleeve."
The Conjurer politely smiledAt the infuriating child,And said, "Come close, my little man,And learn my secrets if you can."Young Anthony marched up with gleeRemarking, "Huh ! You can't catch me!""Now," said the great man, "one–two–three!"And Anthony–ah, where was he?
His mother wildly glanced around.The boy was nowhere to be found:But in the Conjurer's top-hatA third and extra rabbit sat . . . .
Children, when you go to partiesNever talk like little smarties:Even if you don't believe,Keep your knowledge up your sleeve.