/ 
THEM DURN “SHIRKS” 
By A. F. WESTERVELT 
WAS sitting, in 
breathless and pop- 
eyed amazement, on a 
rail fence listening to 
Jed, my uncle's field- 
hand, to me the most 
wonderful person in 
the world. I must 
have been about ten 
years old at the time, 
and he, if we add up 
the years covered by 
his various and tre¬ 
mendous experiences, must have been 
at least a hundred. He was really, I 
suppose, about twenty-five, a Yankee 
and a gorgeous liar. 
“Yas,” drawled he, as my finger-nails 
dug deeper into the top rail of the fence, 
“you may well say thet I knows about 
‘shirks’ considerable plenty. The one 
thet I’m tellin’ you about had been 
a’follerin’ the boat fer about a week; 
my pal Cy wuz near dead from thirst. 
“Thet durn ol’ shirk knowed thet he 
wuz on the track o’ meat. Wal, say, 
when Cy died o’ course I had to heave 
him overboard, and thet ol’ shirk just 
took him at one gulp.” 
I shivered in horrified delight—this 
was no mere farmhand. Robinson Cru¬ 
soe, Swiss Family Robinson and all the 
rest never even approached him. He 
was Superman! Unable to control my¬ 
self further, I gasped: “Oh, Jed, did 
he get you,too?” 
I remember the quizzical grin that 
overspread his face as he replied: 
“Wal, seein’ as how I’m a-settin’ here 
a-tellin’ you ’bout it, I reckon as how 
I must have got away. Y’see, I hadn t 
nothin’ on board ’cept a ol’ shovel thet 
had been throwed in by someone, and 
every time thet ol’ shirk would make 
a dash at me I’d jab at him with it to 
keep him off. Fin’ally he grabbed it, 
and I could feel and hear him a-craunch- 
in’ on it. T’wuz terrible. I thought 
he’d sure drag me outen the boat, but 
I held on and sudden it seems to me 
thet the shirk wuz jus’ a-swimmin’ 
along easy like and not thrashin and 
shakin’ so much. Pretty soon, I seen 
a sail. What would I do? I dassn’t 
let go of the shovel, and the ol’ shirk 
just wouldn’t. Wal, at last I just nailed 
the shovel handle to the seat and got 
up and waved my shirt, and so thet’s 
how I cum to be saved.” 
“Oh, yes; but, Jed, how about the 
shark?” I exploded. 
“Wal,” replied my hero, “y’see, thet 
ol’ shirk bit so hard on thet shovel thet 
his teeth went thru and clinched on 
the other side an’ he couldn’t git off. 
When we got to the ship they rove a 
rope through the shovel handle and 
histed him on deck, and if you don t 
believe it, there’s the proof on it.” 
He proudly displayed a charm on his 
hair watch-cord; no matter what it 
was, I believed it was just what he 
claimed it to be—the tooth of the ter¬ 
rible fish that had taken in “Cy.” 
From that time to the time of the 
Spanish War I do not think I was much 
interested in sharks, but in 1898 we 
had a string of ’em following our ship 
through the warm waters of the Car- 
DON’T DESPISE A TWENTY- 
POUND ‘'DOGGIE.” 
i WE CAUGHT AN OCCASIONAL 
RAY. 
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