“Not content with his vicious assaults, the murderous brute finally attempted to assassinate me, and very nearly succeeded. I had composed a madrigal for my sweetheart, and had just finished singing it to her one evening when that calico-vending dude fired at me with a pistol and narrowly missed cutting me off in the flower of my youth. The ball lodged in my shoulder, and gave me no end of trouble. Did you ever hear of such a cold-blooded attempt to--” “Pardon me, Tommy,” said Fido, “but what was the song like?” “Let me see;” said Tommy, “perhaps I can remember it. Oh yes, it ran like this: “‘_When the silvery moon doth brightly beam, after the toil of day is done, how fair my darling dost thou seem, as thou climb’st the fence, or on the ridge-pole swiftly run. Thy form is sylph-like in its grace; thy voice seraphic sweet and low; how soft the whiskers on thy face, that in the moonbeams brightly glow._ “‘_Miow, miow, miow, miow, ’iow, ’iow, ’iow!_’” “Um-ah,--” said Fido. “Your song has one very admirable feature--it has but one verse. I am not sure, however, but that I shall have to acquit the young man who shot you. Self defense, you know, my dear Tommy is--” “Oh, stow your sarcasm, Fido!” cried Tommy. “It isn’t at all becoming to you, my boy. If you don’t want to hear the rest of my story, just say so.” “Oh, well, Tommy, you mustn’t be so sensitive to the raillery of an old friend. Go on with your yarn. It is highly interesting.” “Well, as I was saying, the ball lodged in my shoulder and nearly killed me. I was sick a long time, and the doctor finally took me to a veterinary for consultation. Of course I couldn’t say anything about the bullet--on the lady’s account you know--so the doctor was stumped for once. The veterinary pounded me black and blue from head to foot, and after gouging my belly full of finger holes, said--‘He’s got appendicitis, and we will have to operate.’ That settled _me_--I just jumped through the window, sash and all, and weak as I was, succeeded in escaping. A man who doesn’t know lead poisoning from appendicitis, can’t monkey with Tommy Baker’s domestic economy, you can just bet your life on that! “Through the kindly offices of one of my friends I succeeded in getting accommodations in a stable near by, where I lived on mice and wind for three weeks, at the end of which time my wound was entirely well. I had more wind than mice on my stomach most of the time, but the dieting evidently did me good. I finally went home, and you never saw such rejoicing as there was among the children. They hugged me ’most to death.