The Mason County journal. [volume] (Shelton, W.T.) 1886-1927, 1890-07-04
MICKEY FINN'S TRAGEDY.

soughing through the little strip of piney
woods on Cooney Island near the upper
left hand corner of Stumpy Field. All
day long the rays Of the August sun had
beaten down on the dry grasses and
dropping wild flowers in the field. The
air was tremulous with heat, and the
wide expanse of landscape which could
be seen from the back stoop Of the Finn
shanty showed no sign of life. A lazy
butterfly with gaudily painted wings
fOated hither and thither on the zephyrs
which drifted out from Lindsley's wood
A great humble bee nestled in the
shade of the leaves of the sweetbriar
bush close by the slfanty, from which it
fitted moment afterward as though
seeming greater sweets within, and
lighted on the rubicund nose of Mrs
Finn. There was pause like that be-
fore a storm. There was swipe of the
big red arm, blow of the big fat fist
on the side Of the glowing beak, but the
bee had skipped.
1t was no uncertain memory which
the bee had left behind upon that pro-
boscis. Little by little the nose swelled
to enormous proportions, and by the
time that Mrs. Finn had reached the
cracked mirror in her dingy bedroom
the swelling had spread to her cheeks,
her eyes, her long double jointed ears,
and to that huge cavern which she called
her mouth.
COW, WOW! Militia murther!" she
screamed, as she caught sight of her
phiz in the glass. At that moment the
humble bee came buzzing around her
head again. Driven wild by the pain in
her nose, Mrs. Finn shot out her fist at
random and struck the looking glass
square in the middle. There was crash,
a scream and gush of blood. She had
cut the artery in her wrist. She tainted,
and before she came to she had bled to
death.
The humble bee buzzed on.
The wind soughed an extra sough
through Lindsley's wood, and the water
in the pond seemed troubled and wept.
Nature mourned. She little knew what
sad old time she was going to have or
she would have got right up and howled.
Mr.. Finn came ambling in a zigzag
fashion towards the shanty He had been
iquidating at Mullen's groggery. He
had suspicious looking tin can in his
hand, which he set down carefully near
Mickey's pansy blossoms. Then he smiled.
not with ghoulish glee, but with salts
faction born of the hope that the old
Billy would meet his just deserts by and
by. The old man turned his giddy foot
steps into the shanty.
Again the wind soughed mighty,
mighty sough. These soughs don't cost
a cent, and are only put in to fill up the
time until Mr.. Finn gets into his bedroom
and throws off his jumper. He saw his
spouse upon the floor. but he did not give
her second thought, concluding, natu-
rally, that she had only one of her old
time jagS on.
''Phere the divil is that bye?' he cried,
starting for the door. He was greeted
by an avalanche of bees that had been
summoned by the bumbler. They made
a fierce onslaught upon the old man, but
the liquor in his brain gave him an ar
tltlclal courage to fight the foe. He struck
out wildly in every direction, but the
bees had come to stay and sting.
And they did sting.
In an instant the old mans face was
pulled up out of all recognition, and his
hands were as big as hams He stag.
gered back to the bedroom, and Just as
the wind in Lindsley's wood twisted an
extra sough out of large green bough
he fell across the PROSTATE form of his
wife.
In moment he had joined the adult
angels. The couple had been united in
life, such as it had been, and the exor-
dunn of fate was complete they were
united in death.
And the bees hummed requiem out
side the cottage.
Over the brow of hill gamboled the
old Billy. He had long cherished deep
sea green hatred for Mrs. O'Brien, and
he was going to have it out. He saw her
chopplng wood near her shanty. Her
back was toward him. His eyes glist-
ened. He lowered his head until his
long beard trailed on the ground, and
made rush for the enemy.
When Mr.. O'Brien came home that
night he found his wife dead, with an
ak handle sticking through her diar
phragm.
Hic jacet!
The schoolmaster was the next to cross
the path of the Infatuated goat. Now,
alas! the old pedagogue is sitting on a
damp cloud, a Green's grammar in his
hand, Mickey Firms well thumbed ABC
book in his hip pocket. and heavenly
smile ON his face.
.Gone, but not forgottenr g. W.. C.,
Little Mickey. the angel of the Finn
hearthstone, came gayly tripping along a
shaded pathway in Lindsley's wood. A.
that moment there was fearful sough
N the green fingers of the big pine, and
; premonition of approaching disaster
entered his little heart as he made cow.
boy tracks for home.
Poor little Mickey!
He sat on the side of his little trundle
oed, looking at his pulled up parents.
and small tear trickled down his sad
little nose, like drop of dew ON squash
IS he realized that he was an orphan.
TO his childish mind the desOlation
was complete, and he saw no reason for
lingering longer on the blue. moldy