Miscellany: Fond

One Edward Fitzgerald had a real affection for the pedigreed Guernsey bull belonging to Mrs. Helen Ledger Wood of Red Bank, N. J., where he was formerly employed. Every Sunday afternoon he visited the bull, petted him, let him out of the pen for a romp. Last week he was found gored to death.

Afraid

In Manhattan, the clang of fire engines split the night air. Fire-companies raced madly through deserted streets, turned corners recklessly, arrived; found one Mrs. Bessie Mann, 35, waiting, patient. Said she, ingenuous, to Magistrate Gordon, “I was on my way home alone. It was dark and I was afraid. So I thought I would ring for a policeman.”

Brooding

In Tokyo, one Giichi Kitazawa, confectioner, sat brooding; glowered across the table at his sweetheart. Disappointed in love, he swallowed large quantities of eggs, curry, rice; drank heartily of sake-whisky; fell unconscious, died.

Nervous

Last week over the links of the Old Flushing Country Club, L. I., a well-hit golf ball zoomed, struck unconscious one Edward Brown, 12, who was following his father’s party around the course. Frantic, Dr. Brown carried his son to the street, was heartened by the offer of transportation from Building Commissioner John W. Moore, driving by at the moment. Mr. Moore drove a few minutes, stopped the car, got out, said: “I’m too nervous to drive. Take the car and go on.” From the curb, he watched Dr. Brown drive off, collapsed, died.

Peregrinatic

At Newton, Jasper County, Ill., one Mrs. Flossie Jones struggled, sweat, yielded a girl baby. Labor pains ceased not. So her husband, deputy sheriff, carried her across the boundary line to Effingham, Effingham County. Six hours later she bore a boy.

Bunk

At sea, aboard the collier Anthony O. Boyle of Quincy, Mass., one Martin Ward crawled into his forecastle bunk and fell asleep. From the bunk above Seaman Ward’s issued the stertorous breathing of a 250-lb. shipmate, also slumbering. Waves lapped and buffeted the collier’s hull. Timbers creaked. Into the monotonous orchestration of the forecastle’s night sounds crept a small cracking note, a rip, a split, a smothered crash. Ward awoke, in intense pain. His brain flashed: “Shipwreck! Drowning:!” Then a terrible weight lifted as the 250-pound shipmate removed his person and his bunk from Ward’s head, chest, stomach, legs. Ward was rushed to a shore hospital “seriously injured.”

Leg

The wooden leg was an asset but the good leg was a liability. People looked coldly at the liability, passed by. One Malcolm Norris, 21, beggar, sat in a San Francisco street last week, pondered, arose, hobbled to a railroad track. He bound a rude tourniquet above his knee, thrust out the liability to convert it into an asset, as a train snorted by. The conversion failed; he died three hours later.