"But, George dear, he's here--in the room!"
There was something in my wife's voice, a note of ringing exultation,
that brought me bolt upright in bed.
"Put up your hands--quick!" said a staccato voice.
It was true, there at the end of the bed, flashing the conventional
bull's-eye lantern, stood at last a real burglar.
"Put 'em up!"
My hands went heavenward in thanksgiving and gratitude.
"Make a move, you candy dude, or shout for help," continued the voice,
shoving into the light the muzzle of a Colt's revolver, "and this for
you's!"
The slighting allusion I took to the credit of the pink and white
pajamas I wore--but nothing at that moment could have ruffled my
feelings. I was bubbling over with happiness. I wanted to jump up and
hug him in my arms. I listened. Downstairs could be heard the sound of
feet and an occasional metallic ring.
"Oh, George, isn't it too wonderful--wonderful for words!" said Clara,
hysterical with joy.
"I can't believe it," I cried.
"Shut up!" said the voice behind the lantern.
"My dear friend," I said conciliatingly, "there's not the slightest need
of your keeping your finger on that wabbling, cold thing. My feelings
towards you are only the tenderest and the most grateful."
"Huh!"
"The feelings of a brother! My only fear is that you may overlook one or
two articles that I admit are not conveniently exposed."
The bull's-eye turned upon me with a sudden jerk.
"Well, I'll be damned!"
"We have waited for you long and patiently. We thought you would never
come. In fact, we had sort of lost faith in you. I'm sorry. I apologize.
In a way I don't deserve this--I really don't."
"Bughouse!" came from the foot of the bed, in a suppressed mutter. "Out
and out bughouse!"
"Quite wrong," I said cheerily. "I never was in better health. You are
surprised, you don't understand. It's not necessary you should. It would
rob the situation of its humor if you should. All I ask of you is to
take everything, don't make a slip, get it all."
"Oh, do, please, please do!" said Clara earnestly.
The silence at the foot of the bed had the force of an exclamation.
"Above all," I continued anxiously, "don't forget the pots. They stand
on either side of the fireplace, filled with ferns. They are not pewter.
They are solid silver champagne coolers. They are worth--they are
worth--"
"Two hundred apiece," said Clara instantly.
"And don't overlook the muffineers, the terrapin dishes and the
candlesticks. We should be very much obliged--very grateful if you
could find room for them."
Often since I have thought of that burglar and what must have been his
sensations. At the time I was too engrossed with my own feelings. Never
have I enjoyed a situation more. It is true I noticed as I proceeded our
burglar began to edge away towards the door, keeping the lantern
steadily on my face.
"And one favor more," I added, "there are several flocks of individual
silver almond dishes roosting downstairs--"
"Forty-two," said Clara, "twenty-four in the dining-room and eighteen in
the parlor."
"Forty-two is the number; as a last favor please find room for them; if
you don't want them drop them in a river or bury them somewhere. We
really would appreciate it. It's our last chance."
"All right," said the burglar in an altered tone. "Don't you worry now,
we'll attend to that."
"Remember there are forty-two--if you would count them."
"That's all right--just you rest easy," said the burglar soothingly.
"I'll see they all get in."
"Really, if I could be of any assistance downstairs," I said anxiously,
"I might really help."
"Oh, don't you worry, Bub, my pals are real careful muts," said the
burglar nervously. "Now just keep calm. We'll get 'em all."
It suddenly burst upon me that he took me for a lunatic. I buried my
head in the covers and rocked back and forth between tears and laughter.
"Hi! what the ----'s going on up there?" cried a voice from downstairs.
"It's all right--all right, Bill," said our burglar hoarsely, "very
affable party up here. Say, hurry it up a bit down there, will you?"
All at once it struck me that if I really frightened him too much they
might decamp without making a clean sweep. I sobered at once.
"I'm not crazy," I said.
"Sure you're not," said the burglar conciliatingly.
"But I assure you--"
"That's all right."
"I'm perfectly sane."
"Sane as a house!"
"There's nothing to be afraid of."
"Course there isn't. Hi, Bill, won't you hurry up there!"
"I'll explain--"
"Don't you mind that."
"This is the way it is--"
"That's all right, we know all about it."
"You do--"
"Sure, we got your letter."
"What letter?"
"Your telegram then."
"See here, I'm not crazy--"
"You bet you're not," said the burglar, edging towards the door and
changing the key.
"Hold up!" I cried in alarm, "don't be a fool. What I want is for you to
get everything--everything, do you hear?"
"All right, I'll just go down and speak to him."
"Hold up--"
"I'll tell him."
"Wait," I cried, jumping out of bed in my desire to retain him.
At that moment a whistle came from below and with an exclamation of
relief our burglar slammed the door and locked it. We heard him go down
three steps at a time and rush out of the house.
"Now you've scared them away," said Clara, "with your idiotic humor."