"Bless my soul," cried Mr. Yollop delightedly; "you get brighter every minute. Perhaps you have at one time or another conducted a humorous column for a Metropolitan newspaper?" "Well, I've done my share towards fillin' up the 'lost' column," said Mr. Smilk modestly. "Say, if we're going to keep up this talkfest much longer, I got to let my hands down. The blood's runnin' out of 'em. What are you goin' to do with me? Keep me sittin' here till morning?" "I'm glad you reminded me of it. I want to call the police." "Well, I'm not hindering you, am I?" "In a way, yes. How can I call them and keep an eye on you at the same time?" "I'll tell what I'll do," said Cassius Smilk obligingly. "I'll take a message 'round to the police station for you." "Ah! That gives me an idea. You shall telephone to the police for me. If my memory serves me well, Spring 3100 is the number. Or is it Spring 3100 that calls out the fire department? It would be very awkward to call out the fire department, wouldn't it? They'd probably come rushing around here and drown both of us before they found out wer'd made a mistake and really wanted the police." "All you have to do is to say to Central: 'I want a policeman.'" "Right you are. That's what the telephone book says. Still I believe Spring 3100--" "The simplest way to get the police," broke in the burglar, not without hope, "is to fire five shots out of a window as rapidly as possible. They always come for that." "I see what you are after. You want them to come here and arrest me for violating the Sullivan Law. Don't you know it's against the law in New York to have a revolver on your premises or person? And what's more, you would testify against me, confound you. Also probably have me up for assault and battery. No, Mr. Smilk, your suggestion is not a good one. We will stick to the telephone. Now, if you will be kind enough to fold your arms tightly across your breast,--that's the idea,--and arise slowly to your feet, I will instruct you--Yes, I know it is harder to get up without the aid of the hands than it was to go down, but I think you can manage it. Try again, if you please." Then, as Mr. Smilk sank sullenly back against the wall, apparently resolved not to budge: "I'm going to count three, Cassius. If you are not on your feet at the end of the count, I shall be obliged to do the telephoning myself." "That suits me," said Cassius grimly. "Do you object to the smell of powder?" "Huh?" "I don't like it myself, but I should, of course, open the windows immediately and air the room out--" "I'll get up," said Cassius, and did so, clumsily but promptly. "Say, I--I believe you WOULD shoot. You're just the kind of boob that would do a thing like that." "I dare say I should miss you if I were to fire all five bullets,--but that's neither here nor there. You're on your feet, so--by the way, are you sure this thing is loaded?"