ONE, TWO, BUCKLE¹ MY SHOE
I
Mr. Morley was not in the best of tempers at breakfast. He complained of the bacon, wondered
why the coffee had to have the appearance of liquid mud, and remarked that breakfast cereals were
each one worse than the last.
Mr. Morley was a small man with a decided² jaw³ and a pugnacious⁴ chin. His sister, who kept
house for him, was a large woman rather like a female grenadier. She eyed her brother
thoughtfully and asked whether the bath water had been cold again.
Rather grudgingly⁶, Mr. Morley said it had not.
He glanced at the paper and remarked that the Government seemed to be passing from a state of
incompetence⁷ to one of positive imbecility!
Miss Morley said in a deep bass⁸ voice that it was Disgraceful!
As a mere⁹ woman she had always found whatever Government happened to be in power
distinctly useful. She urged her brother on to explain why the Government’s present policy was
inconclusive, idiotic¹⁰, imbecile and frankly¹¹ suicidal!
When Mr. Morley had expressed himself fully⁵ on these points, he had a second cup of the
despised coffee and unburdened himself of his true grievance¹².
“These girls,” he said, “are all the same! Unreliable, self-centred—not to be depended on in any

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