|
Main
- books.jibble.org
My Books
- IRC Hacks
Misc. Articles
- Meaning of Jibble
- M4 Su Doku
- Computer Scrapbooking
- Setting up Java
- Bootable Java
- Cookies in Java
- Dynamic Graphs
- Social Shakespeare
External Links
- Paul Mutton
- Jibble Photo Gallery
- Jibble Forums
- Google Landmarks
- Jibble Shop
- Free Books
- Intershot Ltd
|
books.jibble.org
Previous Page
| Next Page
Page 28
When a burglar is caught who does not wear a collar he is described as a
degenerate of the lowest type, singularly vicious and depraved, and is
suspected of being the desperate criminal who stole the handcuffs out of
Patrolman Hennessy's pocket in 1878 and walked away to escape arrest.
The other well-known type is the burglar who wears a collar. He is always
referred to as a Raffles in real life. He is invariably a gentleman by
daylight, breakfasting in a dress suit, and posing as a paperhanger, while
after dark he plies his nefarious occupation of burglary. His mother is
an extremely wealthy and respected resident of Ocean Grove, and when he is
conducted to his cell he asks at once for a nail file and the Police
Gazette. He always has a wife in every State in the Union and fiancees in
all the Territories, and the newspapers print his matrimonial gallery out
of their stock of cuts of the ladies who were cured by only one bottle
after having been given up by five doctors, experiencing great relief
after the first dose.
The burglar wore a blue sweater. He was neither a Raffles nor one of the
chefs from Hell's Kitchen. The police would have been baffled had they
attempted to classify him. They have not yet heard of the respectable,
unassuming burglar who is neither above nor below his station.
This burglar of the third class began to prowl. He wore no masks, dark
lanterns, or gum shoes. He carried a 88-calibre revolver in his pocket,
and he chewed peppermint gum thoughtfully.
The furniture of the house was swathed in its summer dust protectors. The
silver was far away in safe-deposit vaults. The burglar expected no
remarkable "haul." His objective point was that dimly lighted room where
the master of the house should be sleeping heavily after whatever solace
he had sought to lighten the burden of his loneliness. A "touch" might be
made there to the extent of legitimate, fair professional profits -- loose
money, a watch, a jewelled stick-pin -- nothing exorbitant or beyond rea
son. He had seen the window left open and had taken the chance.
The burglar softly opened the door of the lighted room. The gas was
turned low. A man lay in the bed asleep. On the dresser lay many things
in confusion -- a crumpled roll of bills, a watch, keys, three poker
chips, crushed cigars, a pink silk hair bow, and an unopened bottle of
bromo-seltzer for a bulwark in the morning.
The burglar took three steps toward the dresser. The man in the bed
suddenly uttered a squeaky groan and opened his eyes. His right hand slid
under his pillow, but remained there.
"Lay still," said the burglar in conversational tone. Burglars of the
third type do not hiss. The citizen in the bed looked at the round end of
the burglar's pistol and lay still.
"Now hold up both your hands," commanded the burglar.
The citizen had a little, pointed, brown-and-gray beard, like that of a
painless dentist. He looked solid, esteemed, irritable, and disgusted.
He sat up in bed and raised his right hand above his head.
"Up with the other one," ordered the burglar. "You might be amphibious
and shoot with your left. You can count two, can't you? Hurry up, now."
"Can't raise the other one," said the citizen, with a contortion of his
lineaments.
"What's the matter with it?"
"Rheumatism in the shoulder."
"Inflammatory?"
"Was. The inflammation has gone down." The burglar stood for a moment or
two, holding his gun on the afflicted one. He glanced at the plunder on
the dresser and then, with a half-embarrassed air, back at the man in the
bed. Then he, too, made a sudden grimace.
"Don't stand there making faces," snapped the citizen, bad-humouredly.
"If you've come to burgle why don't you do it? There's some stuff lying
around."
"'Scuse me," said the burglar, with a grin; "but it just socked me one,
too. It's good for you that rheumatism and me happens to be old pals. I
got it in my left arm, too. Most anybody but me would have popped you
when you wouldn't hoist that left claw of yours."
Previous Page
| Next Page
|
|