Yollop | Page 2

will just remain as you
are,--I dare say you'd better put up the other hand, too, if you can spare
it,--I will back up to the table here and get my listening apparatus. Now
you won't have to shout so. I don't know much about revolvers, but I
assume that all one has to do to make it go off is to press rather firmly
on this little contrivance--"
"Yes! But DON'T!"
"Not so loud! Not so loud! I'm not as deaf as all that. And don't move! I
give you fair warning. Watch me closely. If you see me shut my eyes,
you will know I'm going to shoot. Remember that, will you? The
instant you detect the slightest indication that my eyes are about to
close,--dodge!"
"By thunder,--I--I wonder if you're as much of a blame fool as you
seem to be,--or are you just playing horse with me," muttered the
victim, as he raised his other hand. "I'd give ten years of my life to
know,--"
"I won't be a second," announced Mr. Yollop, backing gingerly toward
the table. With his free hand he felt for and found the rather elaborate
contraption that furnished him with the means to counteract his
auricular deficiencies. The hand holding the revolver wobbled a bit;
nevertheless, the little black hole at which the dazed robber stared as if
fascinated was amazingly steadfast in its regard for the second or
perhaps the third button of his coat. "It's a rather complicated
arrangement," he went on to explain, "but very simple once you get it
adjusted to the ear. It took me some time to get used to wearing this
steel band over the top of my head. I never have tried to put it on with
one hand before. Amazing how awkward one can be with his left hand,
isn't it? Now, you see how it goes. This little receiver business clamps
right down to the ear,--so. Then this disc hangs over my chest--and you
talk right at it. For awhile I made a practice of concealing it under my
vest, being somewhat sensitive about having strangers see that I am
deaf, but one day my niece, a very bright child often, asked me why I
did it. I told her it was because I didn't want people to know I was deaf.
Have you ever felt so foolish that you wanted to kick yourself all over
town? Well, then you know how I felt when that blessed infant pointed

to this thing on my ear and--What say?"
"I say, that's the way I've been feeling ever since I came to," repeated
the disgusted burglar.
"Of course, I realize that it's a physical, you might well say, a scientific
impossibilty, for one to kick himself all over town, but just the same, I
believe you are as nearly in the mood to accomplish it as any man alive
to-day."
"You bet I could," snapped the thief, with great earnestness. "When I
think how I let a skinny, half-witted boob like you walk right into a
clinch with me, and me holdin' a gun, and weighin' forty pounds more
than you do, I--Can you hear what I'm saying?"
"Perfectly. It's a wonderful invention," said Mr. Yollop, who had
approached to within four or five feet of the speaker and was bending
over to afford him every facility for planting his words squarely upon
the disc. "Speak in the same tone of voice that you would employ if I
were about thirty feet away and perfectly sound of hearing. Just
imagine, if you can, that I am out in the hall, with the door open, and
you are carrying on a conversation with me at that--"
"I've said all I want to say," growled the other sullenly.
"What is your name?"
"None of your damn business."
Mr. Yollop was silent for a moment. Then he inquired steadily:
"Have you any recollection of receiving a blow on the jaw, and
subsequently lying on the flat of your back with my knees jouncing up
and down on your stomach while your bump of amativeness was being
roughly and somewhat regularly pounded against the wall in response
to a certain nervous and uncontrollable movement of my hands which
happened to be squeezing your windpipe so tightly that your tongue
hung out and--"
"You bet I remember it!" ruefully.
"Well, then," said Mr. Yollop, "what is your name?"
"Jones."
"What?"
"I thought you said you could hear with that thing!"
"I heard you say Jones quite distinctly, but why can't you answer my
question? It was civil enough, wasn't it?"
"Well," said the crook, still decidedly uncertain as to the expression in

Mr. Yollop's eye, "if you insist on a civil answer, it's Smilk."
"Smith?"
"No, NOT Smith," hastily and