Evening star., 1928-12-11

Robert Jones Burdette, born in 1914, was
an American humorous writer He made
the Burlington, Iowa, Hawk Eye famous
with his writings.
One day, not great while ago, Mr.
Middlerib read in his favorite paper a
paragraph stating that the sting of a
bee was a sure cure for rheumatism,
and citing several remarkable instances
in which people had peen perfectly
cured by this abrupt remedy. Mr.. Mid
dlerib thought of the rheumatic tWinges
that grappled his knees once in while
and made his life burcen.
|. He read the article several times and
pondered over it. He understood that
the singing must be done scientifically
and thoroughly. The bee, as he under
stood the article, was to be gripped by
the ears and set Gown upon the
rheumatic joint and held there until it
stung Itself stingless. He had some
misgivings about the matter. He knew
it would hurt. He harciy thought it
could hurt any worse than the rheunna-
tism, and 1t had been SO many years
since he was stung by a bee that he
had almost forgotten what it felt like.
He had, however. a general feeling
that 1t would hurt some. But desperate
diseases require desperate remedies, and
Mr.. Middlerib was willing to undergo
any amount Of suffering If 1t would
cure his rheumatism.
He contracted with Master Middlerib
for a limited supply of bees, humming
and buzzing about in the Summer air.
Mr.. Middlerib did not know how to get
them. He felt, however, that he could
safely depend upon the instincts and
methods of boyhood. He knew that II
there was any way In heaven whereby
the shiest bee that ever lifted a 400
pound-man off the clover could be in
duced to enter wide -mouthed glass
bottle, his son knew the way.
For the small sum of one dime,
Master Middlerrib agreed to procure
several, to-wit: six bees, age not speci-
fed: but, as Mr.. Middlerib was left
in uncertainty as to the race, it was
made obligatory upon the contractor
to have three Of them honey and three
humble, or, in the generally accepted
vernacular, bumblebees.
Mr.. Middlerib did not tell his son
what he wanted those bees for, and the
boy went off on his mission with his
head so full of astonishment that it
fairly whirled. Evening brought all
home, and the last rays of the declin-
ing sun fell upon Master Middlerib with
short, wide -mouthed bottle comforta-
bly, populated with hot, ill-natured bees,
and Mr.. Middlerib and a dime. The
dime and the bottle changed hands. Mr..
Middlerib put the bottle in his coat
pocket and went into the house, eyeing
everybody he met very suspiciollsly, as
though he had made up his mind to
sting to death the first person who
said "bee" to him.
He confided his guilty secret to none
of his family. He hid his bees in his
bedroom, and as he looked at them
just before putting them away he half
wished the experiment was safely over.
He wished the imprisoned bees did not
care he submerged the bottle in basin
the heated inmates to cool them off.
At the tea table he had q great
fright. Miss Middlerib, in the artless
simplicity Of her romantic nature, said
I smell bees. How the odor brings
But her father glared at her and
said, with superfluous harshness and
execrable grarnmer: Hush up! You
don't smell nothing"
Whereupon Mrs. Middlerib asked him
II he had eaten anything that dis
agreed with him, and Miss Middlerib
said:
why, pal" and Master Middlerib
smiled as he wondered.
Bedtime at last, and the night was
warm and sultry. Under various false
pretenses, Mr.. Middlerib strolled about
the house until everybody else was in
bed, and then he sought his room. He
turned the lamp down until its feeble
ray shone dimly as Q death light.
. Mr.. Middlerib diSrobed slowly, very
slowly. When at last he was ready to
go numbering into his peaceful couch.
he heaved a profound sigh, so full Of
apprehension and grief that Mrs.
said If it gave him so much pain to