Somebody lets out the most gosh-awful yell you ever heard and we shove the door open just in time to see Little Al sailing out of that window, head first, like a bird on the wing; and then we heard a hard thump on the frozen ground 'way down below, followed by low moaning sounds. In his hurry Little Al must have plumb forgot that while Billy Grimm's saloon was flush with the street in front, at the far end it was scaffolded up over a hollow fifteen or twenty feet deep. So we swarmed down the back steps and picked him up and you never saw a soberer party in your life than what that ex-suicider was, or one that was gladder to see a rescue party arrive. Soon as he got his wind back he clung to us, pleading with us to protect him from that murdering scoundrel of a man-killer and demanding to know what kind of a fellow he was not to be able to take a joke, and stating that he'd had a close call which it certainly was going to be a lesson to him, and so on. Pretty soon after that he began to take note that he was hurting all over. You wouldn't have believed that a man who wasn't over five-feet-two could be bunged up and bruised up in so many different localities as Little Al was. Even his hair was sore to the touch. When he got so he could hobble around he joined an organization which up until then it'd only had one other charter member in good standing, the same being Whiz Bollinger, former owner and chief mourner of that there late-lamented buckboard. It was a club with just one by-law--which was entertaining a profound distrust for Samson Goodhue, Esquire--but there were quite a good many strong rich cuss-words in the ritual. Still, any man who devotes himself to the public welfare is bound to accumulate a few detractors as he goes along. Good Sam went booming ahead like as if there wasn't a private enemy on his list or a cloud in his sky. He'd do this or that or the other thing always, mind you, with the highest and the purest motives and every pop it would turn out wrong. Was he discouraged? Did he throw up his hands and quit in the face of accumulating ingratitude? Not so as to be visible to the naked eye. The milk of human kindness that was sloshing about inside of him appeared to be absolutely curdle-proof. I wish I knew his private formula--I could invent a dandy patent churn.