A Gun-Toting Guard at the Liquor Store

On account of the removal of the earth in his cellar, Squire Squire has been compelled to roll out into the street a number of barrels of liquor, and in order that it might not be tapped, he felt it his duty to put on a guard at night. Monday evening, he engaged the services of one of the boys, and in order that any who might have a stiff enough hankering for a nip to induce them to tap a barrel, the guard concluded to lug a rifle during his vigils. He borrowed one early in the evening and marched up to the store and in the presence of Squire and Eugene Germond he exhibited the gun, and counted upon the funny little contrivance that swallowed cartridges, and by a simple twist of the wrist of the operator, emitted them again with a suddenness and force very alarming to those standing within a mile in front of the muzzle. Speaking learnedly, while the witnesses were gazing eagerly and watching closely, the man with the gun threw up the cock this way, drew down the lever that way, jerked it back another way—bang! went the blasted thing. Doy tumbled backwards over a box of crackers, Eugene jumped against a pillar so hard as to almost knock out the bung hole, while the operator leaned against the door jamb struggling for breath, holding the gun as far away from himself as possible. After recovering, it was found that the bullet had passed through the back door and was still traveling for all they knew. It is hardly necessary to say that the young man stood watch that night with a club.