Then he left the house and didn't return until evening. When Mrs. B. asked
him if he had given a second thought to the subject which she had broached
in the morning, he drew a newspaper from his pocket, and said: "See here,
Mirandy! There's no use o' foolin' away money on one o' those new-fangled
burglar-alarms. Economy is wealth. Here's a capital idea suggested in this
paper--cheap, simple and effective."
And then he read the suggestion about hanging a tin pan on the
chamber-door.
"I tell you, Mirandy! the man who conceived that brilliant notion is a
heaven-born genius--a boon to mankind; and his name should go ringing down
the corridors of time with those of such brilliant intellect as Watt,
Morse, Edison, and other successful scientific investigators. You see, the
least jar of the door will dislodge the pan, and the noise occasioned
thereby will not only awaken the occupants of the room, but will also scare
the burglar half to death, and perhaps the pan will strike him on the head
and fracture his skull. It is a glorious scheme, and the fact that it was
not utilized years ago is the most remarkable thing about it."
"Well," assented Mrs. B. in less sanguine tones, "it may be better than
nothing, and it won't cost anything; and as Susan has gone out to spend the
night with her sick sister, and we'll be all alone, I'll hunt up the pans
now."
Accordingly, each inside door was crowned with a tin pan and left slightly
ajar. Banford also thoughtfully placed a six-shooter under his pillow and
stood a base-ball bat within easy reach.
"Now, Mirandy," he courageously observed, as they were preparing to retire,
"if you are awakened by a noise during the night, don't scream and jump out
of bed. Just lie still, or some o' the bullets I fire at the burglar may go
through you and kill you. Let me wrestle with the intruder, and I'll soon
make him regret that he had not postponed being born for a few centuries!"
Then they turned down the gas with a feeling of increased security, and
were soon asleep. About half-past midnight they were awakened by a noise
that sounded like a sharp clap of thunder, followed by a wail that almost
chilled the marrow in their bones.
"Goodness!" screamed Mrs. B., in a voice swollen with terror, as she dived
under the bed-clothes. "We'll be murdered in a minute. Shoot him, Lucullus!
Quick--shoot him!"
Banford, after considerable nervous fumbling under the pillow, grasped his
revolver with an unsteady hand and discharged its six barrels in rapid
succession, but not with very gratifying results. One bullet shattered the
mirror in the bureau; another plowed a furrow along the ceiling; another
splintered the bed-post; a fourth perforated a portrait of his wife's
mother; and the other two left their imprint on the walls.
"D-d-don't be fuf-fuf-frightened, M-mirandy," said Banford, encouragingly,
his articulation sounding as if it had "collided" with an Arctic wave: "I
gug-guess I've kik-kik-killed him. He'll not kik-kik-come here--"
At this juncture there was a noise in an adjoining room, as if a two-ton
meteorite had crashed through a boiler-foundry, and Mrs. B. uttered a
series of ear-piercing shrieks that would have scared the life out of any
burglar.
"M-mirandy," stammered the frightened and demoralized Banford, grasping the
base-ball bat and swinging it around with such reckless promiscuousness
that he struck his terror-stricken wife on the head, "Mum-mirandy, the
house is fuf-full of midnight mum-marauders, and we'll be bub-bub-butchered
in cold bub-bub-blood! Save yourself and don't mum-mind about me!" And
leaping out of bed, he sprang through a window on to the roof of a back
building, and accidentally rolled off into the yard, fifteen feet below,
just as another burglar-alarm went off with a clamor almost as deafening
and harrowing as an amateur orchestra. Mrs. B., thinking she had been hit
by the burglar, emitted a fresh outburst of shrieks, while her husband lay
groaning in the back yard, with a sprained ankle and a frightful gash in
his head.
A policeman had now been awakened by the uproar, and boldly mounting the
front stoop, he pulled the door-bell out by the roots without evoking a
response. Then he hesitated.
"If a foul murder has been committed," he mused, "the assassin has already
made good his escape."
This thought gave him courage, and he forced an entrance. In the entry he
collided with a hat-rack, which he mistook for the outlaw, and almost
demolished it with several whacks of his club. Then he made a careful
reconnaissance, and dislodged one of the burglar-alarms.
"Spare my life," he yelled to his imaginary assailant, "and I'll let you
escape!"
He thought he had been stabbed with a frying-pan. He rushed out of the
house and secured the assistance of four of his fellow-officers, and a
search of the building was resumed. Mrs. Banford was found in bed
unconscious. Her husband was found in the yard in nearly a similar
condition; and the burglar was found under the sofa, shivering with fear,
and with his tail clasped tightly between his legs.
The cause of the panic was soon explained. Mrs. Banford had overlooked the
presence of her pet dog in the house, and this innocent animal, in running
from one room to another, had dislodged the "cheap and effective"
burglar-alarms.
BETTER THINGS.
BY GEORGE MACDONALD.
Better to smell the violet cool, than sip the glowing wine;
Better to hark a hidden brook, than watch a diamond shine.
Better the love of a gentle heart, than beauty's favor proud;
Better the rose's living seed, than roses in a crowd.
Better to love in loneliness, than to bask in love all day;
Better the fountain in the heart, than the fountain by the way.
Better be fed by a mother's hand, than eat alone at will;
Better to trust in God, than say: "My goods my storehouse fill."
Better to be a little wise, than in knowledge to abound;
Better to teach a child, than toil to fill perfection's round.
Better to sit at a master's feet, than thrill a listening State;
Better suspect that thou art proud, than be sure that thou art great.
Better to walk the real unseen, than watch the hour's event;
Better the "Well done!" at the last, than the air with shouting rent.
Better to have a quiet grief, than a hurrying delight;
Better the twilight of the dawn, than the noonday burning bright.
Better a death when work is done, than earth's most favored birth;
Better a child in God's great house, than the king of all the earth.