Murderer

As the S. S. Haiti of the Colombian line neared St. Thomas harbor in the Virgin Islands, a dove, flying aimlessly far from land, alit on the deck. Wireless Operator William D. Collins occupied his idle hours cooing, chirruping, making enticing gestures with his fingers. The dove's hunger overcame its distrust when the man offered crumbs in his palm. The man, thinking the small creature loved him, felt benevolent, like God.

When Sheik, the Haiti's white tomcat, saw the dove, it made him feel like a tomcat. He was not hungry, but only the tip of his tail was moving when he flattened himself for a precisely accurate spring. Knocking the feathers out of his whiskers, glancing around, he lifted the warm kill in his mouth. Its pretty head dragged stupidly as he picked his way to a cubby hole and hid it. Sheik licked a paw neat, stretched himself, stalked off.

When Wireless Operator Collins saw feathers and found what was in the cubby hole, he felt more than ever like God. He hunted Sheik, who arched against his leg as usual, purring in mad anticipation of a caress. He carried Sheik to the wireless room, muttering. He arranged some wires, glared at the "murderer" and loosed the lightning of righteousness. It was Omnipotence to swing the white corpse by its tail and hurl it at the sky, a falling thing in the wide heavens, a pitching clot for the sharks.

Exploded

In Manhattan, Plasterers Paul Biejan and Seamons Fogler were seriously injured last week when a workman on a building under construction on 28th street, dropped near them a bottle of banana oil, which exploded.