"With this he began to row again, and I followed his example, but with a
very heavy heart. All that night I dreamt of the little child with the
damp night winds blowing in upon it."

"Did you ever hear if it caught cold?" asked Aunt Martha.

"No," replied the burglar, "I never did. I mentioned the matter to my
father, and he said that he had great fears upon the subject, for
although he had written to Williamson Green, asking him to return the
instruments, he had not seen him or heard from him, and he was afraid
that the child had died or was dangerously sick. Shortly after that my
father sent me on a little trip to the Long Island coast to collect some
bills from people for whom he had done work. He gave me money to stay a
week or two at the seashore, saying that the change would do me good;
and it was while I was away on this delightful holiday that an event
occurred which had a most disastrous effect upon my future life. My
father was arrested for burglary!

"It appeared--and I cannot tell you how shocked I was when I discovered
the truth--that the box which I had carried away did not contain
nautical instruments, but was filled with valuable plate and jewels. My
unfortunate father heard from a man who had been discharged from the
service of the family whose house he had visited--whose name, by the
way, was not Green--where the box containing the valuables mentioned was
always placed at night, and he had also received accurate information in
regard to the situation of the rooms and the best method of gaining
access to them.

"I believe that some arrangement had been made between my father and
this discharged servant in regard to a division of the contents of the
box, and it was on account of a disagreement on this subject that the
man became very angry, and after pocketing what my father thought was
his fair share he departed to unknown regions, leaving behind a note to
the police which led to my father's arrest."

"That was a mean trick," said Aunt Martha.

The burglar looked at her gratefully.

"In the lower spheres of life, madam, such things often happen. Some of
the plate and jewels were found in my father's possession, and he was
speedily tried and sentenced to a long term of imprisonment. And now,
can you imagine, ladies," said the tall burglar, apparently having
become satisfied to address himself to Aunt Martha, as well as my wife,
"the wretched position in which I found myself? I was upbraided as the
son of a thief. I soon found myself without home, without occupation,
and, alas! without good reputation. I was careful not to mention my
voluntary connection with my father's crime for fear that should I do so
I might be compelled to make a statement which might increase the
severity of his punishment. For this reason I did not dare to make
inquiries concerning the child in whom I had taken such an interest,
and whose little life I had, perhaps, imperilled. I never knew, ladies,
whether that infant grew up or not.

"But I, alas! grew up to a life of hardship and degradation. It would be
impossible for persons in your sphere of life to understand what I now
was obliged to suffer. Suitable employment I could not obtain, because I
was the son of a burglar. With a father in the State prison, it was of
no use for me to apply for employment at any respectable place of
business. I laboured at one thing and another, sometimes engaging in the
most menial employments. I also had been educated and brought up by my
dear mother for a very different career. Sometimes I managed to live
fairly well, sometimes I suffered. Always I suffered from the stigma of
my father's crime, always in the eyes of the community in which I
lived--a community, I am sorry to say, incapable, as a rule, of making
correct judgments in delicate cases like these--I was looked upon as
belonging to the ranks of the dishonest. It was a hard lot, and
sometimes almost impossible to bear up under.

"I have spoken at length, ladies, in order that you may understand my
true position; and I wish to say that I have never felt the crushing
weight of my father's disgrace more deeply than I felt it last evening.
This man," nodding toward the stout burglar, "came to me shortly after I
had eaten my supper, which happened to be a frugal one, and said to
me:--

"'Thomas, I have some business to attend to to-night, in which you can
help me if you choose. I know you are a good mechanic.'

"'If it is work that will pay me,' I answered, 'I should be very glad to
do it, for I am greatly in need of money.'

"'It will pay,' said he; and I agreed to assist him.

"As we were walking to the station, as the business to be attended to
was out of town, this man, whose name is James Barlow, talked to me in
such a way that I began to suspect that he intended to commit a
burglary, and openly charged him with this evil purpose. 'You may call
it burglary or anything else you please,' said he; 'property is very
unequally divided in this world, and it is my business in life to make
wrong things right as far as I can. I am going to the house of a man
who has a great deal more than he needs, and I haven't anything like as
much as I need; and so I intend to take some of his overplus,--not very
much, for when I leave his house he will still be a rich man, and I'll
be a poor one. But for a time my family will not starve.'

"'Argue as you please, James Barlow,' I said, 'what you are going to do
is nothing less than burglary.'

"'Of course it is,' said he; 'but it's all right, all the same. There
are a lot of people, Thomas, who are not as particular about these
things as they used to be, and there is no use for you to seem better
than your friends and acquaintances. Now, to show there are not so many
bigots as there used to be, there's a young man going to meet us at the
station who is greatly interested in the study of social problems. He is
going along with us just to look into this sort of thing and study it.
It is impossible for him to understand people of our class, or do
anything to make their condition better, if he does not thoroughly
investigate their methods of life and action. He's going along just as a
student, nothing more; and he may be down on the whole thing for all I
know. He pays me five dollars for the privilege of accompanying me, and
whether he likes it or not is his business. I want you to go along as a
mechanic, and if your conscience won't let you take any share in the
profit, I'll just pay you for your time.'

"'James Barlow,' said I, 'I am going with you, but for a purpose far
different from that you desire. I shall keep by your side, and if I can
dissuade you from committing the crime you intend I shall do so; but if
I fail in this, and you deliberately break into a house for purposes of
robbery, I shall arouse the inmates and frustrate your crime.' Now,
James Barlow," said he, turning to the stout man with a severe
expression on his strongly marked face, "is not what I have said
perfectly true? Did you not say to me every word which I have just
repeated?"

The stout man looked at the other in a very odd way. His face seemed to
broaden and redden, and he merely closed his eyes as he promptly
answered:--

"That's just what I said, every blasted word of it. You've told it fair
and square, leavin' off nothin' and puttin' in nothin'. You've told the
true facts out and out, up and down, without a break."

"Now, ladies," continued the tall man, "you see my story is
corroborated, and I will conclude it by saying that when this house, in
spite of my protest, had been opened, I entered with the others with the
firm intention of stepping into a hallway or some other suitable place
and announcing in a loud voice that the house was about to be robbed. As
soon as I found the family aroused and my purpose accomplished, I
intended to depart as quickly as possible, for, on account of the shadow
cast upon me by my father's crime, I must never be found even in the
vicinity of criminal action. But as I was passing through this room I
could not resist the invitation of Barlow to partake of the refreshments
which we saw upon the table. I was faint from fatigue and insufficient
nourishment. It seemed a very little thing to taste a drop of wine in a
house where I was about to confer a great benefit. I yielded to the
temptation, and now I am punished. Partaking even that little which did
not belong to me, I find myself placed in my present embarrassing
position."

"You are right there," said I, "it must be embarrassing; but before we
have any more reflections, there are some practical points about which
I wish you would inform me. How did that wicked man, Mr. Barlow I think
you called him, get into this house?"

The tall man looked at me for a moment, as if in doubt what he should
say; and then his expression of mingled hopelessness and contrition
changed into one of earnest frankness.

"I will tell you, sir, exactly," he said; "I have no wish to conceal
anything. I have long wanted to have an opportunity to inform occupants
of houses, especially those in the suburbs, of the insufficiency of
their window fastenings. Familiar with mechanic devices as I am, and
accustomed to think of such things, the precautions of householders
sometimes move me to laughter. Your outer doors, front and back, are of
heavy wood, chained, locked, and bolted, often double locked and bolted;
but your lower windows are closed in the first place by the lightest
kind of shutters, which are very seldom fastened at all, and in the
second place by a little contrivance connecting the two sashes, which is
held in place by a couple of baby screws. If these contrivances are of
the best kind and cannot be opened from the outside with a knife-blade
or piece of tin, the burglar puts a chisel or jimmy under the lower sash
and gently presses it upward, when the baby screws come out as easily as
if they were babies' milk-teeth. Not for a moment does the burglar
trouble himself about the front door, with its locks and chains and
bolts. He goes to the window, with its baby screws, which might as well
be left open as shut, for all the hindrance it is to his entrance; and
if he meddled with the door at all, it is simply to open it from the
inside, so that when he is ready to depart he may do so easily."

"But all that does not apply to my windows," I said. "They are not
fastened that way."

"No, sir," said the man, "your lower shutters are solid and strong as
your doors. This is right, for if shutters are intended to obstruct
entrance to a house they should be as strong as the doors. When James
Barlow first reached this house he tried his jimmy on one of the
shutters in this main building, but he could not open it. The heavy bolt
inside was too strong for him. Then he tried another near by with the
same result. You will find the shutters splintered at the bottom. Then
he walked to the small addition at the back of the house, where the
kitchen is located. Here the shutters were smaller, and of course the
inside bolts were smaller. Everything in harmony. Builders are so
careful now-a-days to have everything in harmony. When Barlow tried his
jimmy on one of these shutters the bolt resisted for a time, but its
harmonious proportions caused it to bend, and it was soon drawn from its
staples and the shutter opened, and of course the sash was opened as I
told you sashes are opened."

"Well," said I, "shutters and sashes of mine shall never be opened in
that way again."

"It was with that object that I spoke to you," said the tall man. "I
wish you to understand the faults of your fastenings, and any
information I can give you which will better enable you to protect your
house, I shall be glad to give, as a slight repayment for the injury I
may have helped to do to you in the way of broken glass and spoiled
carpet. I have made window fastenings an especial study, and, if you
employ me for the purpose, I'll guarantee that I will put your house
into a condition which will be absolutely burglar proof. If I do not do
this to your satisfaction, I will not ask to be paid a cent."

"We will not consider that proposition now," I said, "for you may have
other engagements which would interfere with the proposed job." I was
about to say that I thought we had enough of this sort of story, when
Aunt Martha interrupted me.

"It seems to me," she said, speaking to the tall burglar, "that you have
instincts, and perhaps convictions, of what is right and proper; but it
is plain that you allow yourself to be led and influenced by
unprincipled companions. You should avoid even the outskirts of evil.
You may not know that the proposed enterprise is a bad one, but you
should not take part in it unless you know that it is a good one. In
such cases you should be rigid."

The man turned toward my aunt, and looked steadfastly at her, and as he
gazed his face grew sadder and sadder.

"Rigid," he repeated; "that is hard."

"Yes," I remarked, "that is one of the meanings of the word."

Paying no attention to me, he continued:--

"Madam," said he, with a deep pathos in his voice, "no one can be
better aware than I am that I have made many mistakes in the course of
my life; but that quality on which I think I have reason to be satisfied
with myself is my rigidity when I know a thing is wrong. There occurs to
me now an instance in my career which will prove to you what I say.

"I knew a man by the name of Spotkirk, who had invented a liniment for
the cure of boils. He made a great success with his liniment, which he
called Boilene, and at the time I speak of he was a very rich man.

"One day Spotkirk came to me and told me he wanted me to do a piece of
business for him, for which he would pay me twenty-five dollars. I was
glad to hear this, for I was greatly in need of money, and I asked him
what it was he wanted me to do.

"'You know Timothy Barker,' said he. 'Well, Timothy and I have had a
misunderstanding, and I want you to be a referee or umpire between us,
to set things straight.'

"'Very good,' said I, 'and what is the point of difference?'

"'I'll put the whole thing before you.' said he, 'for of course you
must understand it or you can't talk properly to Timothy. Now, you see,
in the manufacture of my Boilene I need a great quantity of good yellow
gravel, and Timothy Barker has got a gravel pit of that kind. Two years
ago I agreed with Timothy that he should furnish me with all the gravel
I should want for one-eighth of one per cent. of the profits on the
Boilene. We didn't sign no papers, for which I am sorry, but that was
the agreement; and now Timothy says that one-eighth of one per cent.
isn't enough. He has gone wild about it, and actually wants ten per
cent., and threatens to sue me if I don't give it to him.'

"'Are you obliged to have gravel? Wouldn't something else do for your
purpose?'

"'There's nothing as cheap,' said Spotkirk. 'You see I have to have lots
and lots of it. Every day I fill a great tank with the gravel and let
water onto it. This soaks through the gravel, and comes out a little
pipe in the bottom of the tank of a beautiful yellow color; sometimes it
is too dark, and then I have to thin it with more water.'

"'Then you bottle it,' I said.

"'Yes,' said Spotkirk; 'then there is all the expense and labour of
bottling it.'

"'Then you put nothing more into it,' said I.

"'What more goes into it before it's corked,' said Spotkirk, 'is my
business. That's my secret, and nobody's been able to find it out.
People have had Boilene analyzed by chemists, but they can't find out
the hidden secret of its virtue. There's one thing that everybody who
has used it does know, and that is that it is a sure cure for boils. If
applied for two or three days according to directions, and at the proper
stage, the boil is sure to disappear. As a proof of its merit I have
sold seven hundred and forty-eight thousand bottles this year.'

"'At a dollar a bottle?' said I.

"'That is the retail price,' said he.

"'Now, then, Mr. Spotkirk,' said I, 'it will not be easy to convince
Timothy Barker that one-eighth of one per cent. is enough for him. I
suppose he hauls his gravel to your factory?'

"'Hauling's got nothing to do with it,' said he; 'gravel is only ten
cents a load anywhere, and if I choose I could put my factory right in
the middle of a gravel pit. Timothy Barker has nothing to complain of.

"'But he knows you are making a lot of money,' said I, 'and it will be a
hard job to talk him over. Mr. Spotkirk, it's worth every cent of fifty
dollars.'

"'Now look here,' said he; 'if you get Barker to sign a paper that will
suit me, I'll give you fifty dollars. I'd rather do that than have him
bring a suit. If the matter comes up in the courts those rascally
lawyers will be trying to find out what I put into my Boilene, and that
sort of thing would be sure to hurt my business. It won't be so hard to
get a hold on Barker if you go to work the right way. You can just let
him understand that you know all about that robbery at Bonsall's
clothing-store, where he kept the stolen goods in his barn, covered up
with hay, for nearly a week. It would be a good thing for Timothy Barker
to understand that somebody else beside me knows about that business,
and if you bring it in right, it will fetch him around, sure.'

"I kept quiet for a minute or two, and then I said:--

"'Mr. Spotkirk, this is an important business. I can't touch it under a
hundred dollars.' He looked hard at me, and then he said:--

"'Do it right, and a hundred dollars is yours.'

"After that I went to see Timothy Barker, and had a talk with him.
Timothy was boiling over, and considered himself the worst-cheated man
in the world. He had only lately found out how Spotkirk made his
Boilene, and what a big sale he had for it, and he was determined to
have more of the profits.

"'Just look at it!' he shouted; 'when Spotkirk has washed out my gravel
it's worth more than it was before, and he sells it for twenty-five
cents a load to put on gentlemen's places. Even out of that he makes a
hundred and fifty per cent. profit.'

"I talked a good deal more with Timothy Barker, and found out a good
many things about Spotkirk's dealings with him, and then in an off-hand
manner I mentioned the matter of the stolen goods in his barn, just as
if I had known all about it from the very first. At this Timothy stopped
shouting, and became as meek as a mouse. He said nobody was as sorry as
he was when he found the goods concealed in his barn had been stolen,
and that if he had known it before the thieves took them away he should
have informed the authorities; and then he went on to tell me how he got
so poor and so hard up by giving his whole time to digging and hauling
gravel for Spotkirk, and neglecting his little farm, that he did not
know what was going to become of him and his family if he couldn't make
better terms with Spotkirk for the future, and he asked me very
earnestly to help him in this business if I could.

"Now, then, I set myself to work to consider this business. Here was a
rich man oppressing a poor one, and here was this rich man offering me
one hundred dollars--which in my eyes was a regular fortune--to help him
get things so fixed that he could keep on oppressing the poor one. Now,
then, here was a chance for me to show my principles. Here was a chance
for me to show myself what you, madam, call rigid; and rigid I was. I
just set that dazzling one hundred dollars aside, much as I wanted it.
Much as I actually needed it, I wouldn't look at it, or think of it. I
just said to myself, 'If you can do any good in this matter, do it for
the poor man;' and I did do it for Timothy Barker with his poor wife and
seven children, only two of them old enough to help him in the gravel
pit. I went to Spotkirk and I talked to him, and I let him see that if
Timothy Barker showed up the Boilene business, as he threatened to do,
it would be a bad day for the Spotkirk family. He tried hard to talk me
over to his side, but I was rigid, madam, I was rigid, and the business
ended in my getting seven per cent. of the profits of Boilene for that
poor man, Timothy Barker, and his large family; and their domestic
prosperity is entirely due--I say it without hesitation--to my efforts
on their behalf, and to my rigidity in standing up for the poor against
the rich."

"Of course," I here remarked, "you don't care to mention anything about
the money you squeezed out of Timothy Barker by means of your knowledge
that he had been a receiver of stolen goods, and I suppose the Boilene
man gave you something to get the percentage brought down from ten per
cent. to seven."

The tall burglar turned and looked at me with an air of saddened
resignation.

"Of course," said he, "it is of no use for a man in my position to
endeavour to set himself right in the eyes of one who is prejudiced
against him. My hope is that those present who are not prejudiced will
give my statements the consideration they deserve."

"Which they certainly will do," I continued. Turning to my wife and Aunt
Martha, "As you have heard this fine story, I think it is time for you
to retire."

"I do not wish to retire," promptly returned Aunt Martha. "I was never
more awake in my life, and couldn't go asleep if I tried. What we have
heard may or may not be true, but it furnishes subjects for
reflection--serious reflection. I wish very much to hear what that man
in the middle of the bench has to say for himself; I am sure he has a
story."

"Yes, ma'am," said the stout man, with animation, "I've got one, and I'd
like nothin' better than to tell it to you if you'll give me a little
somethin' to wet my lips with--a little beer, or whiskey and water, or
anything you have convenient."

"Whiskey and water!" said Aunt Martha with severity. "I should think
not. It seems to me you have had all the intoxicating liquors in this
house that you would want."

"But I don't think you're the kind of person who'd doctor the liquor.
This is the first gentleman's house where I ever found anything of that
kind."

"The worse for the gentleman," I remarked. The man grunted.

"Well, ma'am," he said, "call it anything you please--milk, cider, or,
if you have nothin' else, I'll take water. I can't talk without
somethin' soaky."

My wife rose. "If we are to listen to another story," she said, "I want
something to keep up my strength. I shall go into the dining-room and
make some tea, and Aunt Martha can give these men some of that if she
likes."

The ladies now left the room, followed by Alice. Presently they called
me, and, leaving the burglars in charge of the vigilant David, I went to
them. I found them making tea.

"I have been upstairs to see if George William is all right, and now I
want you to tell me what you think of that man's story," said my wife.

"I don't think it a story at all," said I. "I call it a lie. A story is
a relation which purports to be fiction, no matter how much like truth
it may be, and is intended to be received as fiction. A lie is a false
statement made with the intention to deceive, and that is what I believe
we have heard to-night."

"I agree with you exactly," said my wife.

"It may be," said Aunt Martha, "that the man's story is true. There are
some things about it which make me think so; but if he is really a
criminal he must have had trials and temptations which led him into his
present mode of life. We should consider that."

"I have been studying him," I said, "and I think he is a born rascal,
who ought to have been hung long ago."

My aunt looked at me. "John," she said, "if you believe people are born
criminals, they ought to be executed in their infancy. It could be done
painlessly by electricity, and society would be the gainer, although you
lawyers would be the losers. But I do not believe in your doctrine. If
the children of the poor were properly brought up and educated, fewer of
them would grow to be criminals."

"I don't think this man suffered for want of education," said my wife;
"he used very good language; that was one of the first things that led
me to suspect him. It is not likely that sons of boat-builders speak so
correctly and express themselves so well."

"Of course, I cannot alter your opinions," said Aunt Martha, "but the
story interested me, and I very much wish to hear what that other man
has to say for himself."

"Very well," said I, "you shall hear it; but I must drink my tea and go
back to the prisoners."

"And I," said Aunt Martha, "will take some tea to them. They may be bad
men, but they must not suffer."

I had been in the library but a few moments when Aunt Martha entered,
followed by Alice, who bore a tray containing three very large cups of
tea and some biscuit.

"Now, then," said Aunt Martha to me, "if you will untie their hands, I
will give them some tea."

At these words each burglar turned his eyes on me with a quick glance. I
laughed.

"Hardly," said I. "I would not be willing to undertake the task of
tying them up again, unless, indeed, they will consent to drink some
more of my wine."

"Which we won't do," said the middle burglar, "and that's flat."

"Then they must drink this tea with their hands tied," said Aunt Martha,
in a tone of reproachful resignation, and, taking a cup from the tray,
she approached the stout man and held it up to his lips. At this act of
extreme kindness we were all amused, even the burglar's companions
smiled, and David so far forgot himself as to burst into a laugh, which,
however, he quickly checked. The stout burglar, however, saw nothing to
laugh at. He drank the tea, and never drew breath until the cup was
emptied.

"I forgot," said my aunt, as she removed the cup from his lips, "to ask
you whether you took much or little sugar."

"Don't make no difference to me," answered the man; "tea isn't malt
liquor; it's poor stuff any way, and it doesn't matter to me whether
it's got sugar in it or not, but it's moistenin', and that's what I
want. Now, madam, I'll just say to you, if ever I break into a room
where you're sleepin', I'll see that you don't come to no harm, even if
you sit up in bed and holler."

"Thank you," said Aunt Martha; "but I hope you will never again be
concerned in that sort of business."

He grinned. "That depends on circumstances," said he.

Aunt Martha now offered the tall man some tea, but he thanked her very
respectfully, and declined. The young man also said that he did not care
for tea, but that if the maid--looking at Alice--would give him a glass
of water he would be obliged. This was the first time he had spoken. His
voice was low and of a pleasing tone. David's face grew dark, and we
could see that he objected to this service from Alice.

"I will give him the water myself," said Aunt Martha. This she did, and
I noticed that the man's thirst was very soon satisfied. When David had
been refreshed, and biscuits refused by the burglars, who could not very
well eat them with their hands tied, we all sat down, and the stout man
began his story. I give it as he told it, omitting some coarse and rough
expressions, and a good deal of slang which would be unintelligible to
the general reader.

"There's no use," said the burglar, "for me to try and make any of you
believe that I'm a pious gentleman under a cloud, for I know I don't
look like it, and wouldn't be likely to make out a case."

At this the tall man looked at him very severely.

"I don't mean to say," he continued, "that my friend here tried anything
like that. Every word he said was perfectly true, as I could personally
testify if I was called upon the stand, and what I'm goin' to tell you
is likewise solid fact.

"My father was a cracksman, and a first-rate one, too; he brought me up
to the business, beginning when I was very small. I don't remember
havin' any mother, so I'll leave her out. My old man was very
particular; he liked to see things done right. One day I was with him,
and we saw a tinner nailing a new leader or tin water-spout to the side
of a house.

"'Look here, young man,' says Dad, 'you're makin' a pretty poor job of
that. You don't put in enough nails, and they ain't half drove in.
Supposin' there was a fire in that house some night, and the family had
to come down by the spout, and your nails would give way, and they'd
break their necks. What would you think then? And I can tell you what it
is, young man, I can appear ag'in you for doing poor work.'

"The tinner grumbled, but he used more nails and drove 'em tight, Dad
and me standin' by, an' looking at him. One rainy night not long after
this Dad took me out with him and we stopped in front of this house.
'Now, Bobbie,' said he, 'I want you to climb into that open second-story
window, and then slip down stairs and open the front door for me; the
family's at dinner.'

"'How am I to get up, Dad?' said I.

"'Oh, you can go up the spout,' says he; 'I'll warrant that it will hold
you. I've seen to it that it was put on good and strong.'

"I tried it, and as far as I can remember I never went up a safer
spout."

"And you opened the front door?" asked Aunt Martha.

"Indeed I did, ma'am," said the burglar, "you wouldn't catch me makin'
no mistakes in that line.

"After a while I got too heavy to climb spouts, and I took to the
regular business, and did well at it, too."

"Do you mean to say," asked Aunt Martha, "that you willingly and
premeditatedly became a thief and midnight robber?"

"That's what I am, ma'am," said he; "I don't make no bones about it. I'm
a number one, double-extra, back-springed, copper-fastened burglar, with
all the attachments and noiseless treadle. That's what I am, and no
mistake. There's all kinds of businesses in this world, and there's got
to be people to work at every one of 'em; and when a fellow takes any
particular line, his business is to do it well; that's my motto. When I
break into a house I make it a point to clean it out first-class, and
not to carry away no trash, nuther. Of course, I've had my ups and my
downs, like other people,--preachers and doctors and storekeepers,--they
all have them, and I guess the downs are more amusin' than the ups, at
least to outsiders. I've just happened to think of one of them, and I'll
let you have it.

"There was a man I knew named Jerry Hammond, that was a contractor, and
sometimes he had pretty big jobs on hand, buildin' or road-makin' or
somethin' or other. He'd contract to do anything, would Jerry, no matter
whether he'd ever done it before or not. I got to know his times and
seasons for collecting money, and I laid for him."

"Abominable meanness!" exclaimed my wife.

"It's all business," said the stout man, quite unabashed. "You don't
catch a doctor refusin' to practise on a friend, or a lawyer, nuther,
and in our line of business it's the same thing. It was about the end of
October, nigh four years ago, that I found out that Jerry had a lot of
money on hand. He'd been collectin' it from different parties, and had
got home too late in the day to put it in the bank, so says I to myself,
this is your time, old fellow, and you'd better make hay while the sun
shines. I was a little afraid to crack Jerry's house by myself, for he's
a strong old fellow, so I got a man named Putty Henderson to go along
with me. Putty was a big fellow and very handy with a jimmy; but he was
awful contrary-minded, and he wouldn't agree to clean out Jerry until I
promised to go halves with him. This wasn't fair, for it wasn't his job,
and a quarter would have been lots for him.

"But there wasn't no use arguin', and along we went, and about one
o'clock we was standin' alongside Jerry's bed, where he was fast asleep.
He was a bachelor, and lived pretty much by himself. I give him a punch
to waken him up, for we'd made up our minds that that was the way to
work this job. It wouldn't pay us to go around huntin' for Jerry's
money. He was such a sharp old fellow, it was six to four we'd never
find it. He sat up in bed with a jump like a hop-toad, and looked first
at one and then at the other of us. We both had masks on, and it wasn't
puzzlin' to guess what we was there fur.

"'Jerry Hammond,' says I, speakin' rather rough and husky, 'we knows
that you've got a lot o' money in this house, and we've come fur it. We
mean business, and there's no use foolin'. You can give it to us quiet
and easy, and keep a whole head on your shoulders, or we'll lay you out
ready fur a wake and help ourselves to the funds; and now you pays your
money and you can take your choice how you do it. There's nothin'
shabby about us, but we mean business. Don't we, pard?'--'That's so,'
says Putty.

"'Look here,' says Jerry, jest as cool as if he had been sittin' outside
on his own curbstone, 'I know you two men and no mistake. You're Tommy
Randall, and you're Putty Henderson, so you might as well take off them
masks.'--'Which I am glad to do,' says I, 'for I hate 'em,' and I put
mine in my pocket, and Putty he took off his."

"Excuse me," said Aunt Martha, interrupting at this point, "but when Mr.
Hammond mentioned the name of Tommy Randall, to whom did he refer?"

"I can explain that, madam," said the tall burglar, quickly. "This man
by his criminal course of life has got himself into a good many scrapes,
and is frequently obliged to change his name. Since I accidentally
became acquainted with him he has had several aliases, and I think that
he very often forgets that his real name is James Barlow."

"That's so," said the stout man, "there never was a more correct person
than this industrious and unfortunate man sittin' by me. I am dreadful
forgetful, and sometimes I disremember what belongs to me and what
don't. Names the same as other things.

"'Well, now, Jerry,' says I, 'you needn't think you're goin' to make
anythin' by knowin' us. You've got to fork over your cash all the same,
and if you think to make anything by peachin' on us after we've cleared
out and left you peaceful in your bed, you're mistook so far as I'm
concerned; for I've made the track clear to get out of this town before
daybreak, and I don't know when I'll come back. This place is gettin' a
little too hot for me, and you're my concludin' exercise.' Jerry he sat
still for a minute, considerin.' He wasn't no fool, and he knowed that
there wasn't no use gettin' scared, nor cussin', nor hollerin'. What's
more, he knowed that we was there to get his money, and if he didn't
fork it over he'd get himself laid out, and that was worse than losin'
money any day. 'Now, boys, says he, 'I'll tell you what I'll do. I'll
make you an offer; a fair and square offer. What money I've got I'll
divide even with you, each of us takin' a third, and I'll try to make up
what I lose out of my next contract. Now nothin' could be no squarer
than that.'--'How much money have you got, Jerry?' says I, 'that's the
first thing to know.'--'I've got thirty-one hundred dollars even,' says
he, 'and that will be one thousand and thirty-three dollars and
thirty-three cents apiece. I've got bills to pay to-morrow for lumber
and bricks, and my third will pay 'em. If I don't I'll go to pieces. You
don't want to see me break up business, do you?'--'Now, Jerry,' says I,
'that won't do. You haven't got enough to divide into three parts. Putty
and me agree to go halves with what we get out of you, and when I lay
out a piece of business I don't make no changes. Half of that money is
for me, and half is for Putty. So just hand it out, and don't let's have
no more jabberin'.'

"Jerry he looked at me pretty hard, and then says he: 'You're about the
close-fisted and meanest man I ever met with. Here I offer you a third
part of my money, and all you've got to do is to take it and go away
peaceable. I'd be willin' to bet two to one that it's more than you
expected to get, and yet you are not satisfied; now, I'll be hanged if
I'm going to do business with you.'--'You can be hanged if you like,'
says I, 'but you'll do the business all the same.'--'No, I won't,' says
he, and he turns to Putty Henderson. 'Now, Putty,' says he, 'you've got
a pile more sense that this pal of yourn, and I'm goin' to see if I
can't do business with you. Now, you and me together can lick this Tommy
Randall just as easy as not, and if you'll help me do it I'll not only
divide the money with you, but I'll give you fifty dollars extra, so
that instead of fifteen hundred and fifty dollars--that's all he'd given
you, if he didn't cheat you--you'll have sixteen hundred, and I'll have
fifteen hundred instead of the thousand and thirty-three dollars which I
would have had left if my first offer had been took. So, Putty, what do
you say to that?' Now, Putty, he must have been a little sore with me on
account of the arguments we'd had about dividin', and he was mighty glad
besides to get the chance of makin' fifty dollars extry, and so he said
it was all right, and he'd agree. Then I thought it was about time for
me to take in some of my sail, and says I: 'Jerry, that's a pretty good
joke, and you can take my hat as soon as I get a new one, but of course
I don't mean to be hard on you, and if you really have bills to pay
to-morrow I'll take a third, and Putty'll take another, and we'll go
away peaceful.'--'No, you won't,' sings out Jerry, and with that he
jumps out of bed right at me, and Putty Henderson he comes at me from
the other side, and, between the two, they gave me the worst lickin' I
ever got in my born days, and then they dragged me down stairs and
kicked me out the front door, and I had hardly time to pick myself up
before I saw a policeman about a block off, and if he hadn't been a fat
one he'd had me sure. It wouldn't have been pleasant, for I was a good
deal wanted about that time.

"So you see, ladies and gents, that it's true what I said,--things don't
always go right in our line of business no more than any other one."

"I think you were served exactly right," said Aunt Martha; "and I wonder
such an experience did not induce you to reform."

"It did, ma'am, it did," said the burglar. "I made a vow that night that
if ever again I had to call in any one to help me in business of that
kind I wouldn't go pards with him. I'd pay him so much for the job, and
I'd take the risks, and I've stuck to it.

"But even that don't always work. Luck sometimes goes ag'in' a man,
even when he's working by himself. I remember a thing of that kind that
was beastly hard on me. A gentleman employed me to steal his daughter."

"What!" exclaimed my wife and Aunt Martha. "Steal his own daughter! What
do you mean by that?"

"That's what it was," said the stout burglar; "no more nor less. I was
recommended to the gent as a reliable party for that sort of thing, and
I met him to talk it over, and then he told me just how the case stood.
He and his wife were separated, and the daughter, about eleven years
old, had been given to her by the court, and she put it into a boardin'
school, and the gent he was goin' to Europe, and he wanted to get the
little gal and take her with him. He tried to get her once, but it
slipped up, and so there wasn't no good in his showin' hisself at the
school any more, which was in the country, and he knowed that if he
expected to get the gal he'd have to hire a professional to attend to
it.

"Now, when I heard what he had to say, I put on the strictly pious, and,
says I, 'that's a pretty bad thing you're askin' me to do, sir, to
carry away a little gal from its lovin' mother, and more 'an that, to
take it from a school where it's gettin' all the benefits of
eddication.'--'Eddication,' says he; 'that's all stuff. What eddication
the gal gets at a school like that isn't worth a row of pins, and when
they go away they don't know nothin' useful, nor even anything tip-top
ornamental. All they've learned is the pianer and higher mathematics. As
for anythin' useful, they're nowhere. There isn't one of them could
bound New Jersey or tell you when Washington crossed the
Delaware.'--'That may be, sir,' says I, 'but them higher branches comes
useful. If Washington really did cross the Delaware, your little gal
could ask somebody when it was, but she couldn't ask 'em how the pianer
was played, nor what the whole multiplication table came to added up.
Them things she'd have to learn how to do for herself. I give you my
word, sir, I couldn't take a little gal from a school, where she was
gettin' a number one eddication, silver forks and towels extry.' The
gent looked pretty glum, for he was to sail the next day, and if I
didn't do the job for him he didn't know who would, and he said that he
was sorry to see that I was goin' back on him after the recommend I'd
had, and I said that I wouldn't go back on him if it wasn't for my
conscience. I was ready to do any common piece of business, but this
stealin' away little gals from lovin' mothers was a leetle too much for
me. 'Well,' says he, 'there ain't no time to be lost, and how much more
will satisfy your conscience?' When I said a hundred dollars, we struck
the bargain.

"Well, we cut and dried that business pretty straight. I took a cab and
went out to the school, and the gent he got the key of a house that was
to let about three miles from the school, and he was to stay there and
look at that empty house until I brought him the gal, when he was to pay
me and take her away. I'd like to have had more time, so that I could go
out and see how the land laid, but there wasn't no more time, and I had
to do the best I could. The gent told me they all went a walkin' every
afternoon, and that if I laid low that would be the best time to get
her, and I must just fetch her along, no matter who hollered.

"I didn't know exactly how I was going to manage it, but I took along
with me a big bag that was made for the conveyance of an extinct
millionaire, but which had never been used, owin' to beforehand
arrangements which had been made with the party's family.

"I left the cab behind a bit of woods, not far from the school, and then
I laid low, and pretty soon I seed 'em all coming out, in a double line,
with the teacher behind 'em, for a walk. I had a description of the
little gal as was wanted, and as they come nearer I made her out easy.
She was the only real light-haired one in the lot. I hid behind some
bushes in the side of the road, and when they come up, and the
light-haired little gal was just opposite to me, I jumped out of the
bushes and made a dash at her. Whoop! what a row there was in one
second! Such a screamin' and screechin' of gals, such a pilin' on top
each other, and the teacher on top the whole of 'em, bangin' with her
umbrella; they pulled at the gal and they pulled at me, an' they yelled
and they howled, and I never was in such a row and hope I never shall be
again, and I grabbed that girl by her frock, and I tumbled some over one
way and some another, and I got the umbrella over my head, but I didn't
mind it, and I clapped that bag over the little gal, and I jerked, up
her feet and let her slip into it, and then I took her up like a bag of
meal, and put across the field, with the whole kit and boodle after me.
But I guess most of 'em must have tumbled down in hysterics, judgin'
from the screechin', and I got up to the cab and away we went. Well,
when we got to the house where I was to meet the gent, he began straight
off to blow at me. 'What do you mean,' he yelled, 'bringin' my daughter
in a bag?'--'It's the only way to do it, sir,' says I; 'they can't
holler and they can't kick, and people passin' by don't know what you've
got,' and so sayin' I untied the strings, put the little gal on her
feet, and pulled off the bag, and then I'd be hanged if I ever saw a man
so ragin' mad as he was. 'What do I want with that gal?' he cried;
'that's not my daughter. That girl's hair is as black as a coal, and
she's a Jew besides.' As soon as I sot my eyes on the little varmint it
come over me that I got the thing crooked, and in the scrimmage I let go
of the right gal and grabbed another.

"I don't see how a man could help makin' mistakes with that
school-teacher's umbrella whanging away at his knowledge box, but I
wasn't goin' to let on. 'She ain't no Jew, nuther,' says I, 'and she's
your daughter, too; you needn't try to play no tricks on me. Pay me my
money and take her away as quick as you can, that's my advice, or before
you know it you'll be nabbed.'--'Pay ye!' he yelled; 'do you think I'd
pay you anything for that little Jew?'--'She's just as much a Christian
as you are,' says I. 'Ain't you a Christian, little gal? and is'nt this
gentleman your father? and ain't you surprised that he wants to give you
back to be put in the bag?' I said this hopin' she'd have sense enough
to say he was her father so's to get rid of me.

"The wretched gal had been clean dumbfounded when she was took out of
the bag, and hadn't done nothin' so far but blubber and cry, and try to
get away, which she couldn't, because I held her frock; but now she ups
and screams he wasn't her father, and she'd never seen him before, and
then he storms and swears, and tells me to take her back where I got
her, and I tell him I'll see him hanged first, and what I want is my
money; she screams, and he swears he'll not pay me a cent, and I squares
off and says that I'll thrash him out of his skin, and then he calls in
his coachman, and they both make at me, and I backs out the door to get
my cabby to stand by me, and I found that he'd cut out, havin' most
likely got frightened, afraid of bein' mixed up in trouble. Then I seed
on the high road, some half a mile away, some men comin' gallopin', and
the gent he looked out and seed 'em, too, and then says he to me,
'You'll jist take that little Jew gal back where you got her from; she's
no use to me; I'm goin';' and at that I hollered for my money, and made
a grab at him, but the coachman he tripped me over backward, and before
I could git up again they was both off with the horses on a run.

"I was so mad I couldn't speak, but there wasn't no time for foolin',
and I hadn't made up my mind which door I should cut out of, when the
fellows on horseback went ridin' past as hard as they could go. They
must have seed the carriage drivin' away, and thought for sure it had
the gal in it, and they was after it, lickety-split.

"When they was clean gone I looked round for the little gal, but
couldn't see her, but all a-sudden she came out of the fireplace, where
she'd been hidin'. She'd got over her cryin', and over her scare, too,
judgin' from her looks. 'I'm glad he's gone,' says she, 'and I'm mighty
glad, too, that Mr. Haskins and them other men didn't see me.'--'Who's
they?' says I.--'They's neighbors,' says she;' if they knew I was here
they'd took me back.'--'Well, you little minx,' say I, 'isn't that what
you want?'--'No,' says she. 'I didn't want to go with that man, for I
don't know him, and I hate him, but I don't want to go back to that
school. I hate it worse than anything in the whole world. You haven't no
idea what a horrid place it is. They just work you to death, and don't
give you half enough to eat. My constitution won't stand it. I've told
Pop that, and he thinks so too, but Marm, she don't believe in it, and
my stayin' there is all her doin'. I've been wantin' to get away for
ever so long, but I didn't want to be took off in a bag; but now that
I'm out of that horrid hole I don't want to go back, and if you'll take
me home to Pop, I know he won't let me go back, and he'll pay you real
handsome besides.'--'Who's your Pop?' says I.--'He's Mr. Groppeltacker,
of Groppeltacker & Mintz, corset findings, seven hundred and something
or other, I forget the number now, Broadway. Oh, Pop does a lot of
business, I tell you, and he's got lots of money. He sends corset
findings to South America, and Paris, and Chicago, and Madagascar, and
the uttermost parts of the earth. I've heard him say that often, and you
needn't be afraid of his not bein' able to pay you. A lot more than that
man would have paid you for his little gal, if you'd catched the right
one. So if you take me to Pop, and get me there safe and sound, it will
be an awful good speck for you.'

"Now, I begins to think to myself that perhaps there was somethin' in
what that little Jew gal was sayin', and that I might make something out
of the gal after all. I didn't count on gettin' a big pile out of old
Groppeltacker,--it wasn't likely he was that kind of a man,--but
whatever I did get would be clean profit, and I might as well try it on.
He couldn't make no charge ag'in me fur bringin' him his daughter, if
she asked me to do it; so says I to her, 'Now, if I take you home to
your Pop, will you promise on your word an' honour, that you won't say
nothin' about my carryin' you off in a bag, and say that you seed me
walkin' along the road and liked my looks, and told me you were
sufferin', and asked me to take you home to your kind parents, where you
might be took proper care of; and that I said I wasn't goin' that way,
but I'd do it out of pure Christian charity, and nothin' more nor less,
and here you was? And then, of course, you can tell him he ought to do
the handsome thing by me.'--'I'll do that,' says she, 'and I tell how
you talked to me awful kind for more than an hour, tryin' to keep me to
stay at the school, and it wasn't till I got down on my knees and weeped
that you agreed to take me to my kind father.'--'All right,' says I, 'I
might as well take you along, but we'll have to go back by the railroad
and foot it, at least two miles, to the station, and I don't know about
walkin' across the country with a little girl dressed as fine as you
are. I might get myself suspicioned.'--'That's so,' says she; 'we might
meet somebody that'd know me,' and then she wriggled up her little
forehead and began to think. I never did see such a little gal as sharp
as that one was; needles was nothin' to her. In about a minute she says,
'Where's that bag of yourn?'--'Here it is,' says I; and then she took it
and looked at it up and down, with her head cocked on one side. 'If I'd
somethin' to cut that bag with,' says she, 'I could fix myself up so
that nobody'd know me, don't care who it was.'--'I don't want that bag
cut,' says I; 'it's an extry good bag; it was made for a particular
purpose, and cost money.'--'Pop will pay expenses,' says she; 'how much
did it cost?'--'It was four dollars cash,' said I.--'They cheated you
like everything,' says she; 'you could get a bag like that any day for a
dollar and seventy-five cents. Will you let it go at that?'--'All
right,' says I, for I was tickled to see how sharp that little Jew gal
was, and ten to one I'd throwed away the bag before we got to town; so
she pulled a little book out of her pocket with a pencil stuck in it,
and turnin' over to a blank page she put down, 'Bag, one dollar and
seventy-five;' then she borrows my big knife, and holdin' the top of the
bag up ag'in her belt, she made me stick a pin in it about a
hand's-breadth from the floor; then she took the knife and cut the bag
clean across, me a-holdin' one side of it; then she took the top end of
that bag and slipped it on her, over her head and shoulders, and tied
the drawin' strings in it round her waist, and it hung around her just
like a skirt, nearly touchin' the ground; then she split open the rest
of the bag, and made a kind of shawl out of it, puttin' it into shape
with a lot o' pins, and pinnin' it on herself real clever. She had lots
of pins in her belt, and she told me that she never passed a pin in that
school without pickin' it up, and that she had four hundred and
fifty-nine of them now in her room, which she was mighty sorry to leave
behind, and that these she had now was this day's pickin' up.