on
the pit of my stomach and ground his heel into me."

"_Tsch! tsch! tsch!_" Mr. Cone's eyes were popping.

"If it were not for the fact that I'm quick in the head my wife would be
a widow. I was in my sleeping bag and saw the bear coming. I knew what
was going to happen, and that I had one chance in a thousand. It flashed
through my mind that a horned toad when threatened with danger will
inflate itself to such an extent that a wagon may pass over it, leaving
the toad uninjured. I drew a deep breath, expanded my diaphragm to its
greatest capacity, and lay rigid. It was all that saved me."

Again Mr. Cone's tongue against his teeth clicked his astonishment at
this extraordinary experience, and while he congratulated Mr. Appel upon
his miraculous escape he noted that he was wearing souvenirs of his trip
in the way of an elk-tooth scarf-pin and a hat-band of braided horse
hair.

The same train had brought Mrs. J. Harry Stott apparently, for the
elevator was barely closed upon the victim of the picturesque accident
to which Mr. Cone had just listened, when the office was illumined by
her gracious presence.

The last time that lady had extended a supine hand it had been to offer
him one of the most serious affronts that can befall a self-respecting
landlord; now the hand contained only cordiality, and in that spirit Mr.
Cone took it.

"You enjoyed your summer?" As Mr. Cone passed the pen for her to
register.

"Delightful! Altogether unique! Do you know, Mr. Cone, I never before
have fully appreciated my husband--his splendid courage?"

"Is that so?" Mr. Cone replied with polite interest.

"Yes, when put to the test he was magnificent. You see, we had a cook,
oh, a most offensive--a rully violent and dangerous person. In fact, it
was because of him that I left the party prematurely.

"It was plain that both Wallie and Pinkey were afraid of him, and dared
not discharge him, so, one day when he had been more objectionable than
usual, my husband took things into his own hands--he simply _had_ to!

"Hicks--his name was Hicks--was disrespectful when Mr. Stott reprimanded
him for something, and then he attempted to strike my husband with a
pair of brass knuckles. Brass knuckles, it seems, are not a gentleman's
weapon, and the cowardly attack so infuriated Mr. Stott that he knocked
the bully down and took them away from him. He still has them. Before
he let him up he pummelled him well, I assure you. Mr. Stott doesn'