“The fellow who was officiating as lieutenant for the gentleman with the artillery was a tough-looking proposition for his inches, but such a little runt that even the moral suasion of the 45’s did not blunt the edge of my humiliation when he proceeded to ‘go through’ me. “But the ignominy and shame of my embarrassing position had not yet reached the climax. I was raging inwardly and wishing that I could have a fair field and no favor with either or both of the bandits--I used to be pretty handy myself, you know--but I did not lose my self-control during the dextrous and speedy search of my person. A pair of walloping big guns is a great inhibitor of the warlike spirit. “I had not collected my fee in the gunshot case, hence the process of ‘going through’ me was not very productive of spoils. My pockets were as empty of cash as those of a lamb after a busy day on ‘Change. A Waterbury watch, about two dollars in small change, a not very elaborate set of surgical instruments, a jack-knife, a bunch of keys, my wife’s photograph, and an annual pass on the St. Paul road constituted my available assets. “The robber was simply furious when he took account of stock. Dashing the stuff upon the floor he ripped out: “‘D--n you for a no account cuss, anyhow! I’ll just give you one for luck.’ “With this the ruffian suddenly caught me by the shoulders and, wheeling me to the right about, kicked me full upon the pride center! What little weight the fellow had was in that kick and I recollect that the hurt to my anatomy and the still greater injury to my self-respect was not unmingled with surprise. I never before knew how hard such a little chap could kick. It was like a blow from a hydraulic ram. It jarred me so that a plate with several false upper teeth was dislodged from my mouth, and fell upon the floor. “The kick the bandit had given me was alone sufficient to impel me to do murder--my breed does not placidly submit to blows--but the betrayal of a secret which I had guarded carefully, even from my wife, was the last straw in my burden of humiliation. I could take a bite of crow, but I could not bolt him, beak, claws, feathers and all. So enraged was I that I completely forgot the man behind the guns. “In the rear of the stove was a shelf upon which stood numerous things essential to even a bachelor’s housekeeping. Among these various properties a brace of old fashioned flat irons caught my eye. I rushed to the shelf, grabbed an iron and hurled it at my enemy’s head, just missing him by a hair’s breadth.