The Plague of Flies. 25 



he would track on a polished mirror, which he did not, 

 so they said. The fact appears to be that he does. Then 

 somebody else with a low, groveling, materialistic mind 

 who wanted to take all the poetry out of life, hinted that 

 the claws on a fly's feet might not be solely for ornament, 

 but might be used to clamber up roughness in glass, im- 

 perceptible to us, but useful to the fly. This man polished 

 glass to the last degree and rubbed it with impalpable 

 powder and set a fly to walk up it. I suppose that was 

 the first time in the history of the world that a fly lost 

 his temper. It does not mind being shooed away. It 

 thinks you are playing tag with it and enters right into 

 the spirit of the game. But when that fly started up that 

 pane of glass and felt its feet slip from under it as though 

 they had roller skates on and it came down ker-wallop ! 

 it must have been so mortified and surprised that it did 

 not stop to inquire if there were ladies present, but just 

 talked it off as if it were an army officer. 



The fly has two pads on each of its six feet and 

 twelve hundred tenent hairs that exude a gummy fluid. 

 It sticks fast like the leather sucker or a wet finger to a 

 page. When it wants to lift its foot, it pulls it loose as 

 a man takes off a porous plaster, beginning at one corner. 

 Along toward frost, when folks talk of putting up stoves 

 and flies begin to feel right poorly in the mornings, some 

 of them cannot muster up enough strength to wrench 

 themselves free, and, first thing they know, a yeast-like 

 organism locates on them and devours them with a white 

 fuzzy substance. Scientific men call this organism 

 Einpnsa, but in fly language I believe the name of it is, 

 " Good-by, John."' 



It has been discovered that there are enough wonderful 

 things in the world without our being compelled to lie to 

 make life interesting. Of course, if you have to lie to 



