On Sunday morning, then he comes
To church, and everybody smells
The blacking and the toilet soap
And camphor balls from Mr. Wells.
He wears his whiskers in a bunch,
And wears his glasses on his head.
I must n't call him Old Man Wells —
No matter — that's what Father said.
And when the little blacking smells
And camphor balls and soap begin,
I do not have to look to know
That Mr. Wells is coming in.