A NUTSHELL NOVEL

Shannon News, 5 August 1927, Page 4

A NUTSHELL NOVEL

It was only a put, but to some people the loss of a pet is worse than ihp loss of a friend. George Hammerston was such a man.

Only a few minutes ago the littit thing had given a last despairing choke, and had been still. Its master pushed his chair back and gazed very sorrowfully at it. It was so lonely at night down in this little town and without his little friend, life. —well, things would be pretty bad. Excelsior he had named it, because it was never tired; while he was awake, so was Excelsior. Half-forgotten memories crowded in upon him. He had taken to it from the first. How he brightened up when he had first seen it. They had been good friends. Why, one night he could have sworn it had winked at him. It often seemed to enjoy the fun as much as ho did when they had listened to the wireless together. , . . . But of course, how could it understand? It was all only make-believe.

A fit of despondency seemed to creep over him. He sank lower in his chair and slowly, very slowly, his hand crept out towards the drawer of the table in.front of him. He would make an end of it.

Very softly lie opened the draw and dropped in his oldest valve, which bad just burnt out.