Two Footpads
by
Two Footpads sat at their grog in a roadside resort, comparing the evening’s adventures.
“I stood up the Chief of Police,” said the First Footpad, “and I got away with what he had.”
“And I,” said the Second Footpad, “stood up the United States District Attorney, and got away with–“
“Good Lord!” interrupted the other in astonishment and admiration–“you got away with what that fellow had?”
“No,” the unfortunate narrator explained–“with a small part of what I had.”