THE WILD MAN INTERVIEWED
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upon me—it grows apace—what—what is your name?”
“SENSATION!”
“Hence, horrible shape!”
It spoke again:
“Oh pitiless fate, my destiny hounds me once more. I am called. I go. Alas, is there no rest for me?”
In a moment the Wild Man's features seemed to soften and refine, and his form to assume a more human grace and symmetry. His club changed to a spade, and he shouldered it and started away sighing profoundly and shedding tears.
“Whither, poor shade?”
“TO DIG UP THE BYRON FAMILY!”
Such was the response that floated back upon the wind as the sad spirit shook its ringlets to the breeze, flourished its shovel aloft, and disappeared beyond the brow of the hill.
All of which is in strict accordance with the facts.
M. T.
