"are You My Son!"

Col. John L. Burleigh formerly senator from Washtenaw counly leít Aim ArImr politics and journalism some time ago', to become seci etary oí thc Duít'y tool company of South Chicago, but took his propensity for practical jokes with him, and will prolmbly carry it to his grave. lleury E. H. Bower, editor of the Aun Arbor Democrat, recently went to Chicago and called upon Col. Burleigh, who look liiin out to the factory of the Duiïy Tool compauy, about 14 miles froin the city. En route the colonel apparently incidentally mentioned that ouly a few days before lie had had a narrow escape from death, stating that an oíd night watehman at the shops, who had beun a valued employé in his duy, al.leinp.ted to brain him with an ax. Ín reply to Mr Bower's question as lowhy he did not git rid of the old man, the colonel said that theaged lunatic could be easily soothed if his eye were caught, and thal they had become quite used to his "spells." Nothiug mo'-o was saiil about this episode until the works weie veached, wueu Burleigh showed Bower au iiuieutution in an office table made by the sharp edge.of an ax, which he declarad was the place where the bladestruck as bedodged the old man's blow. Bower was shown through thc works, and while thus engaged wasjoined byMr. Duffy, the super, iutendeut. Burleigh found an opporiunity to privately speak to Duffy, and upon returuing to the office the superintendent disappeared, leaving the colonel and his visitor alone in the room. üuffy, who had received his instruclions, went up s'.airs to where the night watchman was sleeping, awoke the old man, and posted him in the part he was to play. The o. n. w. eutered heartily into the spirit of the affair, and grabbiug up an old ncythe handle, arrayed himself to play the lunatic, lt may bc remarked here that the watchman is as ugly a specimen of bumauity as was ever encouutered in any lunalic asyluin. Kis face and form are calculated to excite horror and aversión, and a better actor could not have beun found for the role he was to play. Seizing the scythe handle the old man descended the stairway and eutered the otflee, where Col. Burleigh was writing at the table and Mr. Bower smoking a cigar. lie uttered a wild Comanche yell and jumped into the center of the room, hitling a box of cold-chisels with his scytUe handle, knocking them out and thereby causing a tremendous racket. Bower looked around, look in the situation at glance, and wouid probably have escaped if he could; but the "lunatic" was bet ween him and the door. "Don't move foryourlife!" shouted the colonel. "I will calm him," he added, and took a step toward tha 'madman." "Hush, darling," said the old man in a stage whisper, addre-ssiug an imaginary person; "hush, dear, this is our son," poiutiug onc hand at Bower and raising his left toot from the Boor in a most ludicrous fashion. "He thinks you are his son," said Burleigh lo Bower, quickly. That'a good! Answeryes to all he says. It will calm him." This gave the watchman his cue and kicking over the table he uttered an appalling shriek and capered about the oföce brandishing his foimidable scythe handle. "Ah, h- a!" bellowed the old man with lungs like a buil. "You want to rob me of my sou," and he made a pass at Burleigh, which the latter warded off, and then allowed himself to be flung aside, when the "lunatic" advanced on the terrifled country editor, who stood transiixed with - well aay surprise! "Are you my sou?" shouted the walchman into Bower's face. liemeinberiiig the colonel's injunction Mr. Bower replied that he was. "You are, are you?" "Y-e-s, oh ye-s!" responded the Ann Arbor quill driver. "Ah, ha, darling," mumbled the old man, "I've a notion to break every bone in hjs body." Bpwer involuntarily tetreated, when the fiend tlourished hisweapon andsbouted: "You've come nack, have you? You're my sou, areyouV l'in jrpurfatber, aint 1?" To all of which a trembling ''Yes" was answerea. Burleigh bow got in hia work again, and aftcr the oíd man lias knoeked out a window light, tiicd to kick over the coal stove which bad not been removed for the sunnner, and performeel sundry other capero, he was "èahned" and departed, Burieigb nssuring liim tliat Bower was lus son wlio had como back to take care of him for the rest of liis days. Mr. Bower tried to make ihe best of the affair, and endeavored to laugh it off, reinarkiiiit that lie wasn't al'iaid of llie old ni a n , cerlainly not; bilt Umt "a BCythe lianillc was a dcuccilly awkwanl weapon n the Iniiids of a dant'roiLs lnnatic." lic lefl without dreaininu; that the wliolc thiug was a joke, and ihis article will I' 'Ik.' nrat intimation to him to that .effect, althougli cve'ry man in the shop took tlie story liome and retailed it all over South Chicago with great gusto. Itii probable that "Aie you my sou?" will ring in liis ears at Ano Arlior for some time to come. We copy the abovu, article, heád lines and all, from the Detroit Evening News. Yes, II. E. II. Boweris editor of The Ann Arbor Democüat. and Burroughs Frank Bower is one of the Detroit Evening Xews repertorial start. Now Uso luippened tluit B. F. B. was the individual on whom the joke was played, and by a curious coin cldence, the plirtieB, being brotberg, the initials botanie sltghtly changed and the article was made to read that the editor of Tl nc Dkmdcrat was the bun oí Col. Burleigh'a joke, when the fact is B. F. Bower was the onc meant.