“ROBBED; MAN KILLS HIMSELF
William Farrell’s Pay Stolen on Way Home and He Shoots Self.
William Farrell’s step was brisk when he left the smoke begrimed car shops in Burnside Saturday night. He swung his dinner pail in harmony with a little song that he hummed. And, in the inner-pocket of his coat, there rested snugly a roll of new, crisp bills, his “pay”. He boarded a crowded street car to go to his home.
Wife and child greeted him when he reached home. The woman who toiled in the
comfortable, tidy house knew what Saturday meant.
Billy Farrell plunged his hand into that inner pocket. The smile disappeared from his
“It must be somewhere! I know it must!” he muttered.
The wife gazed on with troubled, startled eyes.
The husband searched again and again, but the crisp bills were gone.
“I’ve been robbed by some miserable thief!” he cried.
Farrell was heartbroken. A short time later he walked out of the cozy kitchen and into the bedroom. There was a report. Mrs. Farrell rushed into the bedroom. Upon the floor lay her husband, his right hand clutching a revolver. He lived only a few moments.
The tragedy of the Farrell home fell upon the ears of a coroner’s jury to-day. The jurors solemnly returned a verdict of suicide while temporarily insane.
“And the thief,” growled one of the jurors, “probably is spending the money having a