A YUCATAN SHARK. 



JACQUES H. TRACY. 



Perched on the ship's rail, we parboiled 

 under the hot Mexican sun, and intently 

 watched the rapid motions of a shark co- 

 quetting with the ripe pork at the end of 

 our line. He could not decide to take it, as it 

 was Friday, so our hopes were alternately 

 raised and dashed as he one moment popped 

 up and circled around the bait, then dived 

 out of sight. A Northern constitution can 

 not long stand a thrill a minute, under such 

 a sun, so we gave him up at last, and re- 

 treated to the smoking room. As the 

 soothing aroma of good tobacco sifted 

 through the air, the chief became reminis- 

 cent. 



"The shark census has fallen off some- 

 what here," he said. "There used to be a 

 dozen for one now ; and such pampered 

 tastes as these have ! That fellow's been 

 turning up his nose at the cook's good pork 

 for the best part of the morning and it's 

 an even chance that he'll not take it at all. 

 We used to heat a shot red hot, rap it in 

 a rag, and drop it overboard, and by the 

 time it hit the water a shark had it. He 

 made the water boil ! The cook used to 

 lower a bucket over the side for some of 

 the water to boil eggs with ! Once we were 



about a day's run from Progreso, when we 

 spotted a shark in our wake. There was 

 nothing remarkable about that, but he 

 seemed as long as a skiff and as slender 

 as a plank. After we reached Progreso 

 the passengers concluded to catch that 

 shark and see what was the matter with 

 him; so they borrowed my tackle and we 

 all piled aft, to see the fun. He took the 

 bait and bolted, but we soon tired him 

 out, hoisted him aboard and I shot him. 

 When he had stopped slapping around, a 

 Mexican produced a carver from some- 

 where about his raiment, which consisted 

 of shirt and drawers, and slit the shark 

 open." 



"Of course you found your great grand- 

 father's gold plated Waterbury, which 

 had been dropped overboard at Hong Kong, 

 still keeping standard time?" we queried 

 wearily. 



"No," declared the chief, "the coroner's 

 evidence showed that the shark had swal- 

 lowed an empty water cask, open end out, 

 and everything he had eaten in weeks had 

 gone into that barrel. He starved to 

 death." 



DOG DAYS. 



A. N. KILGORE. 



Sho, 



Feel too dog-gone lazy t' live. 



'D like t' stop my works jes' a minit 



An' let 'em rest. Gee whiz ! 



What wouldn't I give 



T' flop right down 'longside some crick 



An' do nothin' 'cept watch th' skate-bugs, 



An' let th' shadders play peek-a-boo 



Over my homely features. 



Don't b'lieve I'd want t' watch th' bugs 



nuther — 

 Too much trouble. Let 'em watch me. 

 Nope, wouldn't want t' fish. T' much like 



work. 

 Wouldn't want t' do nothin' 

 But lay there an' mope. 

 'Twould make me tired t' even hear th' 

 Crickets workin' thereselves t' death. 

 'Twould by jing. 

 'D have t' shet my eyes 

 So 's I couldn't see th' leaves 



A wigglin' 'round on their rickety stems. 



Wind's doin' that. 



Why in thunder don't it stop workin' too? 



No, _ 



I b'lieve I'd let it blow. 



'Cause if it stopped, I'd have t' fan. An' 



I ain't real stuck on that idee. 



'Nother thing. I wouldn't want 



T' hear no potterin' stream 



Sloshin' over no rocks. 



'Twould be too irritatin' t' my nerves. 



Stream 'd have t' shet up while I was 



there. 

 An' if any feller come monkeyin' 'round, 

 Abustin' up th' harmony o' my surround- 



in's, 

 After I got settled, 

 I'd settle him. 



Only 'twould take too much trouble. 

 Oh, Hanner ! But how 

 I could loaf jes' about now. 



87 



