Those were great nights with Lump before my fire, and we both understood that when the interview was over he was to go outside. One night, however, I forgot this, and as I went sleepily off to bed he stayed curled up by the warm hearth. The dreams of a deaf man are usually vivid and emphatic. Sleep may be your time for rest and relief from noise; with us it may be our period of music and excitement. That night I dreamed that I was engaged in a prize-fight. I had given the other man a knockout blow, when suddenly the referee came up from behind and struck me on the side with such force that my ribs all seemed to give way. I “came to” to find an energetic figure sitting up in bed beside me, and pounding my side in an effort to bring me back to assume my true position as defender of the family. Around the bed were grouped several small white figures, and at last they made me understand. “There’s someone downstairs. He’s robbing the house. We can hear him. Go down and see about it!” “What’s he doing?” “Playing the piano.” I will admit that my experience with burglars is somewhat limited, but I had never heard of one who stopped to play the piano before starting to burgle. Only a very desperate character would be likely to do that. There have been numerous cases where a deaf man has been shot down when approaching a house at night. He may have come on the most innocent errand, but as he could not hear the command, “Speak or I’ll fire!” he kept steadily on and was shot. I remembered these incidents, but could not recall any instance where the deaf man was supposed to give the order. But I had been telling my children great stories of life on the plains, and the only way for me to remain a hero was to tackle the intruder. I took my big stick and started down, while my wife brought a lamp and held it at the top of the stairs. I presume she was handing out some very sensible advice as I descended—but I could not hear it.