The Preacher's Son by Brand Whitlock - 1912

THE PREACHER'S SON

VAN AMBURGH'S circus was coming to town. All the boys were going; they had planned for weeks, disputing about the many acts on the show bills. The preacher's son had joined in as much as he could, yet deep in his heart he knew that he would not be allowed to go. Sometimes he felt that he was wrong in letting the fellows think he was going. Sometimes he wished that the circus wouldn't come to Macochee at all, but just spread its splendid bills all over town; that would have been enough for a preacher's son, who couldn't go. Now, on this last evening, he sat on the stoop of the parsonage, his chin in his hands, his bare toes curling over the edge of the bottom step. The circus would be there in the morning. He had asked his father again, for the last time, at the supper-table. His father, of course, had said no. The preacher's son didn't know what he was going to do. Some of the fellows had whistled for him back in the alley, but he wouldn't answer. Besides everything else, it was prayer-meeting night, and that of itself was enough to make him sad.

The first bell had just rung, and it yammered away long after it should have left at peace a world that was trying to be happy; that is, as happy as it could be under the circumstances, considering that its center had to be a preacher's son and live next door to a church, and be marked out as different from all the other boys in the world. Old Griffin, the sexton, had opened the church door — or half of the church door, knowing that a half-opened door would admit all who would come to prayer-meeting, — and now was lighting up the basement. The peo ple, a very few of them, were coming to church. On entering they took seats far apart, so as to avoid one another. They sighed now and then, and some times groaned, as they had to do if they wished to be truly good. The preacher's son had realized long ago that he never could be truly good. He had a certainty of conviction that he had been conceived in sin and brought forth in iniquity, though he did not put it in those terms. There seemed to be some legend of ill omen, like those about certain families in books he had read, which had come down to him as the last of a tragic line of victims — all preachers' sons. Everybody had a way of saying, when he was around. 

"Preachers' sons, you know — always turn out bad."

Bolivar The Elephant Attempts Prison Break At Philadelphia ZOO - Inquirer 18 July 1902

Bolivar, the ponderous elephant at the Zoo, has heen on the rampage again, and, in consequence, the chains about his logs have been drawn in several links, bolivar's latest trick consisted of hurling his six ton» of flesh against the thick wall at the end of his cage. This delightful midsummer pastime not only proved extremely dangerous to visitors to the elephant house, but it likewise entailed considerable expense to the management of the Zoo. 

For a period of six or .seven years the stoutly-built brick wall in the huge pachyderm's cage has successfully withstood the terrific onslaughts of Sir Bolivar. Once a year the notorious man-killer becomes particularly vicious, and during these exhibitions of temper be is always carefully guarded. On Wednesday last Bolivar was seized with his annual attack of ugliness, and trouble again prevailed in the Zoo. The brick wall has always been an object of intense hatred to the elephant. He seemed to realize that it barred his way to freedom. 

It was during the early hours of the morning that Bolivar made his initial attack on the wall. Trumpeting with rage, the huge beast made a wild dash and threw his entire weight against the bricks and mortar. Terrific as this onslaught was, it failed to have any effect on the wall. The wild boars and peccaries in an adjoining cage caught the spirit of the pachyderm and added to the general confusion. 

In the meantime, Bolivar, now on the warpath in earnest, made a second attack on his hated enemy. This time the wall wavered, and, several bricks dropping, showed that Bolivar had drawn first blood. Following up the advantage gained, the maddened elephant again threw his six tons of flesh against the partition. This time half the wall fell amid a cloud of dust. 

Fortunately, "Bolivar was securely chained, and' was thus prevented from escaping. "Empress," his companion, who was unencumbered by fetters, was calmly making her way into the wild boar's cage, when several keepers appeared on the scene. 

After considerable difficulty the female elephant was coaxed back to her cage, in the meantime Bolivar, with a keen appreciation of his little joke, was coyly picking up bricks with his trunk and deftly hurling them at the keepers. It was only by dodging about in a most lively way that the keepers escaped serious injury. Bolivar was finally driven into a corner of the cage, where his chains were drawn about his legs as tightly as possible. 

The wild boars and peccaries were removed to an unoccupied cage. Yesterday workmen were busily engaged in repairing the damage done. From the corner of his cage Bolivar watched them with a twinkle in his tiny eyes. The workmen, while they labor, are carefully guarded by several keepers. Should Bolivar feel inclined to resume hostilities the bricklayers will doubtless experience a very unpleasant half hour or more. In anticipation of a contingency of this character, a small gate in the rear of the cage has been left open. 

In rebuilding the wall, Superintendent Brown says that it will be constructed in such a manner as to successfully withstand the fiercest attack Bolivar may make upon it. Bolivar was originally the property of a circus. After he had killed several of his keepers he was given to the Zoo. For more than a score of years he has stood within his cage, his legs shackled tightly. He sleeps upon his feet rocking mechanically from side to side; it is with much apprehension that his keepers look forward to his annual fits of insanity.


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