. Walt Mason : his book. The VenerableExcuse [82] Walt Mason YOU SAY your grandmas dead, mylad, and you, bowed down with woe,to see her laid beneath the mold be-lieve you ought to go; and so you ask ahalf day oflf, and you may have that same;alas, that grannies always die when theresa baseball game! Last spring, if I remem-ber right, three grandmas died for you, andyou bewailed the passing, then, of souls sowarm and true; and then another grandmadied—a tall and stately dame; the day theyburied her there was a fourteen-inninggame. And when the balmy breeze of Juneamong the willows sighed, anoth
. Walt Mason : his book. The VenerableExcuse [82] Walt Mason YOU SAY your grandmas dead, mylad, and you, bowed down with woe,to see her laid beneath the mold be-lieve you ought to go; and so you ask ahalf day oflf, and you may have that same;alas, that grannies always die when theresa baseball game! Last spring, if I remem-ber right, three grandmas died for you, andyou bewailed the passing, then, of souls sowarm and true; and then another grandmadied—a tall and stately dame; the day theyburied her there was a fourteen-inninggame. And when the balmy breeze of Juneamong the willows sighed, another grand-ma closed her eyes and crossed the GreatDivide; they laid her gently to her rest be-side the churchyard wall, the day welammed the stuffing from the Rubes fromMinnepaul. Go forth, my son, and mournyour dead, and shed the scalding tear, andlay a simple wreath upon your eighteenthgrandmas bier; while you perform thissolemn task Ill to the grandstand go, andwatch our pennant-winning team makesoupbones of the o Walt Mason THE OTHER night I took a walk,and called on Jinx, across the home of Jinx was full of boysand girls and forty kinds of noise. DadJinx was good, and kind, and straight; helet the children go their gait; he neverspoke a sentence cross, he never showed thathe was boss, and so his home, as neighborsknow, was like the Ringling wild beastshow. We tried to talk about the crops;the children raised their fiendish yawps;they hunted up a Thomas cat, and placedit in my stovepipe hat; they jarred me witha carpet tack, and poured ice water downmy back; my long coat tails they set afire,and this aroused my slumbring ire. I rose,majestic in my wrath, and through thosechildren mowed a path, I smote them sore-ly, hip and thigh, and piled them in thewoodshed nigh; I threw their father in thewell, and fired his cottage, with a rigid moralists, I hear, have said mycourse was too severe, but their rebukescan not affright—my conscience tells me Iwa
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