Stories - The Death of William the Third

Death of William the Third

Part First

    It was a dark, damp, dreary night in the great metropolis. The clock was striking the hour, but alas! no moon was rising behind the dark church tower s is usually the case. It was nothing but gloom, gloomy gloom, as one might say. A policeman or two might have been seen, but they weren’t. They were as usual, on the beat. Not the kind, however, that was laid out for them by the chief t their respective stations. But why refer to such a matter at this late day. All is changed now; reformed, you know. This was before the days of the Parkhearse Crusade.

Part Second

    It was the very night for crime; crime red-handed, hideous and horrible to get in its work. And it did. There seemed to be more crime in the city at this particular time than any other licensed business, and tonight bid fair to add another to its already long list. A dark, suspicious looking form darted along the street from shadow to shadow, then slunk into an alley and out of sight.

    “R-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-venge,” the stealthy party hissed through his shaggy red whiskers.

    He felt along the dilapidated walls of the outbuildings till he came upon a latch.

    “At lastchst!” he muttered.

    In one hand he carried a murderous looking axe, while with the other hand he raised the latch and opened the door. He listened. His victim was still sleeping. He raised the wood splitter aloft, then a terrific blow, a yell, a moan, another blow and all had blown over.

    The murderer dashed out of the alley and off into the misty night. He felt his way in, but when he went out he dashed. An instant later the alley was full of excited human beings. It being a warm night the windows were open, and the brief struggle had been herd by many. Ex-councilman O’Rafferty and his 250 ib. heart’s delight pushed their way through the crowd to the shed where the victim lay. When Mrs. O’Rafferty beheld the murderer’s work she gave vent to one grand, wild Kilkenny war-hoop of the old school, and climbing to the door-sill she addressed the assembly.

    “Fri’nds ond fellow neighbors!” she cried, “yez are all witnesses to the murder av our third ond lasht goat within wan week. Firrst it war the mother av the wan now prostrate at me fate; ond thin it war her daughter Queen Nan, ond Thirrd, me lasht ond only goat! May his noble ond hoighly respicted sowl rist in p’ace. Searrch de place, fri’nds, ond if yez foind thot blaggard av a Dinny O’Hooligan bring him to me. It’s doyin’ Oi am to twoine me taper fingers in de t’ils av his ould rid hid!”

Part Third

    But Dinny O’Hooligan’s name was on the “disappearance” list chronicled in the next day’s papers. Following the demise of William the Third, the O’Raffertys forever discarded the use of milk. (The reader is requested not to think too deeply here.) But if ever they do yearn for a sight of the O’Rafferty Flat cream in its first stages they sit together hand in hand in the window overlooking the fatal alley, and in silence view the far off milky way with watery eyes.

Joe Cone

Charles Henry Parkhurst (April 17, 1842 – September 8, 1933) was an American clergyman and social reformer, born in Framingham, Massachusetts. Although scholarly and reserved, he preached two sermons in 1892 in which he attacked the political corruption of New York City government. Backed by the evidence he collected, his statements led to both the exposure of Tammany Hall and to subsequent social and political reforms.