The Sedalia weekly bazoo. [volume] (Sedalia, Mo.) 187?-1904, 1881-07-26

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was preacher Of dry sermons on doc
trine, and loathed the hours which h.
was obliged to devote to prison work
though he went his rounds of cell Wis
iting regularly, for he was conscien
tious man in his way. He was 8
middle-aged man, with cold face
sparse whiskers and somewha,
nervous look in his eyes, that had ge,
there since prisoner once SHE'D 9
stool at him.
'Well, Dadso," he said. in a voice
which meant to be kind, but which
was unyenial and patronizing. NJ
man would have liked to he hanged tc
the tune of such a voice as that
"Well, Dadso, trust you are in a
composed frame of mind?"
Coon, parsOn, none . that" ans
wered the prisoner with a frown,
which finished of in a laugh. 81
doan't mean to die tomorrow any
more than you"
."lf We are prepared for death il
ought to have no terrors," remarked
Mr.. Tweetle.
81 dessay, should like to see your
phiz, though, if 'ee We're going to he
swung up Tomorrow" And the pris-
oner gutfawed coarsely.
Would YOU like ME to read cha D.
ter to you?' asked Mr.. Tweetie. who
thought he WAS exercising angelic pa
tience, and commended himself
highly.
"No. EUR; I've heard two sermons
to-day, and that's enough. Can zee
tell me anything about my reprieve -
''None has come Vet. So far as
know"
81 can't see the Use of fooling like
that" said Martin Dadso. II 'xpect
you and the gov'nor have got the re-
prieve, but dOan't mean to let me
know becos its Sunday. 'Spose to-
morrow yell let it of at ME as a sur
prise like the cork o beer bottle.
Well, good night, parson I'm goin'
to turn
Good night, Dadso," replied the
clergyman. coldly. Il hope you will
have quiet night.
Mr.. Tweetle walked out, feeling
that he had done what duty com.
manded, and he was not sorry to get
away sooner than he expected. He
would have been quite happy if be
could have become suddenly a day
older 80 that he might have done with
the troublesome formality Of attend
ing Dadso to the gallows. "a regu-
Lar brute, he solilOquized, as he walk
ed across the prison yard to his house :;
''but they're all like that !; good
words are wasted on them"
Meanwhile, Martin Dadso had risen
in his chair, stretched himself, yawn-
ed and prepared for bed. The heat
Of the fire had made him drowsy. As
he was undressing the old 'un asked
whether he would like a glass of stout,
and on his giving an affirmative re-
ply rang for another warder to fetch
this beverage. BY the doctors mer-
ciful orders, dose of bromide of potas-
stun had been put into the beer to quiet
the doomed man nerves and induce
sleep. The result was that soon after
Dadso had lain his head on his pillow
he sank into deep peaceful slumber,
from which he only awoke at Z in the
morning.
1t was broad daylight then. for the
season was spring, and the golden rays
of sunshine were beaming into the
cell. Dadso sat up abruptly in his
bed, rubbing his eyes and exclaimed
"Well, hasn't t reprieve coom?"
"Not yet" answered the younger
warder, gloomily.
"It'll come by-and-by, no doubt"
remarked the old 'un, whose object it
now was to keep his prisoner as calm
as possible.
"Pish! baby nonsense this u.s."
grumbled Dadso, slipping out of bed.
What o'clock is it? Am l to have
any breakfast ?"
''Oh, yes, and it's ready; cook has
done yer nice rump steak" said the
old 'un as he pulled the bell twice. In
a very few minutes a third warder ap.
peared with a well-served tray, bear
ing steak, tea, toast, and other
things. This mans hand trembled as
he lay the tray down, for he was a
novice and had never before been
mixed up with an execution. The
old 'un had seen a dozen men hanged.
Martin Dadso leisurely washed his
face and hands, then partially dressed
himself and sat down in his shirt
sleeves. He did full justice to the
viands set before them, though a pre-
occupied expression was now settling
4