In the first place, Mr. Yollop knew nothing about firearms. And so,
after he had overpowered the burglar and relieved him of a fully
loaded thirty-eight, he was singularly unimpressed by the following
tribute from the bewildered and somewhat exasperated captive:

"Say, ain't you got any more sense than to tackle a man with a gun,
you chuckle-headed idiot?" (Only he did not say "chuckle-headed,"
and he inserted several expletives between "say" and "ain't.")

The dazed intruder was hunched limply, in a sitting posture, over
against the wall, one hand clamped tightly to his jaw, the other
being elevated in obedience to a command that had to be thrice
repeated before it found lodgment in his whirling brain. Mr. Yollop,
who seemed to be satisfied with the holding up of but one hand,
cupped his own hand at the back of one ear, and demanded
querulously:

"What say!"

"Are you hard o' hearin'?"

"Hey?"

"Well for the--say, are you deef?"

"Don't say deef. Say deaf,--as if it were spelled d-e-double f.
Yes,--I am a little hard of hearing."

"Now, how the hell did you hear--I say, HOW DID YOU HEAR ME IN THE
ROOM, if it's a fair question?"