In this his own metaphor is nearly touched "I
guess not! They don't run over ME! Martin Pike
better look out how he tries it!"

So Mother Nature at her kindly tasks, good
Norbert, uses for her unguent our own perfect
inconsistency: and often when we are stabbed deep
in the breast she distracts us by thin scratches in
other parts, that in the itch of these we may forget
the greater hurt till it be healed. Thus, the
remembrance of last night, when you undisguisedly
ran from the wrath of a Pike, with a pretty girl
looking on (to say nothing of the acrid Arp, who
will fling the legend on a thousand winds), might
well agonize you now, as, in less hasty moments
and at a safe distance, you brood upon the piteous
figure you cut. On the contrary, behold: you see
no blood crimsoning the edges of the horrid gash
in your panoply of self-esteem: you but smart and
scratch the scratches, forgetting your wound in
the hot itch for vengeance. It is an itch which
will last (for in such matters your temper shall be
steadfast), and let the great Goliath in the mean
time beware of you! You ran, last night. You
ran--of course you ran. Why not? You ran to
fight another day!

A bank clerk sometimes has opportunities.

The stricken fat one could not understand how