A Pesky Hen

A PESKY HEN.

And an Ann Arbor Alderman Have a Sprinting Match.

Aid. Geo. Weeks of Broadway is in bed and has been since Wednesday nursing a wrench, a stretch, and a strain of each particular muscle of his body. Thereby hangs a tale. The alderman had, and may have yet, a fine fat hen which he had been keeping for some dinner occasion. The occasion arrived last Wednesday and the Alderman from the Fifth assigned himself the task of cornering said hen. The hen, evidently divining his purpose, got gay and the race she led him was anything but a bee-line. She dodged in more than 400 different ways, ran between his legs and, well, she simply played horse with him. Of course he tried to turn in as many directions and as quickly as he did the hen. When the hen darted between his legs, the pursuit was difficult and he had to roll himself up like ball in order to keep an eye on the pesky hen. These quick twists and turns and contortions account for the present condition of his muscles. Finally, seeing what he considered a sure chance of capturing the bird he made one supreme effort but slipped and fell. The hen kept on the uneven tenor of her way. The alderman's language, as he was being helped into the house was somewhat lurid, nevertheless it failed to do the occasion justice. At last accounts the hen was still in the flesh.