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THE slaughter-house is gone from the mouth of Bear Creek andso is the small jail (or 'calaboose') which once stood in itsneighborhood. A citizen asked, 'Do you remember when Jimmy Finn,the town drunkard, was burned to death in the calaboose?'

Observe, now, how history becomes defiled, through lapse oftime and the help of the bad memories of men. Jimmy Finn was notburned in the calaboose, but died a natural death in a tan vat,of a combination of delirium tremens and spontaneous combustion.When I say natural death, I mean it was a natural death for JimmyFinn to die. The calaboose victim was not a citizen; he was apoor stranger, a harmless whiskey-sodden tramp. I know more abouthis case than anybody else; I knew too much of it, in that bygoneday, to relish speaking of it. That tramp was wandering about thestreets one chilly evening, with a pipe in his mouth, and beggingfor a match; he got neither matches nor courtesy; on thecontrary, a troop of bad little boys followed him around andamused themselves with nagging

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