'No, no, missy, this was all part of the treatment. Now, the afflicted part of my member – the spot that needed cauterizing, you understand – was on the top, about halfway along. But my Trouser-Snake was all shrunk into m'self by this point, from fear. So the apprentice grasped the tip of my Johnson with a pair of tongs and stretched old One-Eyed Willie out with one hand – holding a candle with the other so that the site of the disease was plainly visible. Then the barber rummaged in his brazier and chose just the right sort of iron – methinks they were all the same, but he wanted to put on a great show of discretion, to justify his price. Just as the barber was lowering the glowing iron into position, what should happen but the tax-man and his deputies smashed down both front and back door at the same instant. ‘Twas a raid. Barber dropped the iron.'