# The Vindication of Mr. Bilks

Extracted from Everybody's magazine, August 1908, pp. 270-272.
The Vindication of Mr. Bilks
By Hugh Pendexter
THE heavy, dark brow of Mr. William Bilks, alias “Slinkey Bill,” burglar, was wrinkled in pleasing meditation of the past. For six months he had been living quietly and happily on the proceeds of his last victim, a general store up-State, where the private safe of an egotistical proprietor had opened and disgorged its wealth in the most amiable manner imaginable. Mr. Bilks had just been reflecting how all safes always had had a fascination for him, and how even as a child he had felt a gentle curiosity to pry open the doors and rummage through the contents. Then, besides, safes were his friends and gladly surrendered all at his skilful touch and probing. He told himself he could actually feel the force of their invitation, be it never so mutely given.
But this reverie was interrupted in the most unwholesome manner by the entrance of Mr. Snyme, a more humble member of Mr. Bilks's profession. He viewed Mr. Bilks with an ill-favored grin for a few seconds, paying no heed to the gruff invitation to take a chair. His waggish sprit seemed to find something unusually facetious in Mr. Bilks's hoarse voice and heavy face, and he chuckled in a whimsical manner until the owner of the small room promised on his honor to toss him into the area-way, six stories below.
“Wot d'ye mean by comin' inter a guy's room an' givin' him de ha-ha like dis?” snarled Mr. Bilks, toying thoughtfully with a small crowbar and placing his short-stemmed clay where it would not get broken.
“'Scuse mem Bill, but I'se just t'inkin' wot a mistake de fly cops is makin', dat's all,” apologized Mr. Snyme.
“Oh! is dat all dat's troublin' youse? Why, of course dey makes mistakes. Only, I'd take it kindly in youse, Snyme, if youse would always explain de joke 'fore youse let yer face slip like dat ag'in. Wot's de gag?” and Mr. Bilks lit his pipe and tangled his rough features into what was intended for a smile of welcome.
“Not much of nut'in', old pal,” and Mr. Snyme edged carelessly toward the door; “but dey do say youse cracked de general Steve in Churchville two nights ago.”
“Fer de love of— Say dat ag'in, Beau! Dey t'ink I did dat job? Me? Slinkey Bill, wot's ben mentioned by de best papers in connection wid some of de slickest jobs in de State!” And Mr. Bilks in horror and disgust laid down his pipe and reached over one thick palm to grasp the other's arm. “Take it back, Beau, an' say youse was only foolin',” he begged. “Let it go as a joke an' I'll fergive youse. Ho! ho!” and Mr. Bilks croaked dismally. “If dat ain't youse—out an' out! Never a time but wot youse got a joke ter spring.”
“But I mean it, Bill,” repeated Mr. Snyme, smothering a grin. “It's gospel. De Inspector has men lookin' fer youse all over, an' not more'n a hour ago dey raided de old crib. Dat's why I'm here, ter give youse de tip. Better pack up an' make a git-away.”
“Wot?” roared Mr. Bilks, dashing his beloved pipe to the floor in his rage, and causing his visitor to back toward the door. “Me git out! Go an leave de boys ter t'ink I did dat yeggman's job! Fer de love of— Why, say, Beau, dey didn't even do no drillin'! T'ink of dat! Why, when I heard how dey butchered dat safe I could ha' set down an' cried wid grief. It was nut'in' but a old-fashion box, plated wid tin an' painted black,” reminded Mr. Bilks pathetically, now changing to a retrospective mood, as he dropped his stubbly chin in his hands. “Dat's all it was. Why, I've had my eye on it fer years, an' say, pal, it was dat easy I couldn't bear ter do it. It was like hurtin' a kid.”
“Well, dey say youse did it all right, all right, an' de Inspector takes his oat' he'll git youse 'fore night,” comforted Mr. Snyme, emboldened now to tip his chair against the wall.
Mr. Bilks for some minutes gazed moodily at the floor. Then he observed to himself, more than to his visitor, whose satisfaction was ill concealed:
“An' dey say I did it! Knobs banged off wid a spike-maul! Five slugs of glycerin used! Safe all blown ter pieces! Winders an' furniture wrecked an' money burned an' sp'iled! An' dey say I did it, eh? Well, well, wot's de use fer a guy like me ter try an' build up a name! Here I'se worked like a dog fer years, leavin' de drink alone, an' always tryin' ter improve my mind. An' jest as I gits where I can spend a peaceful old age wid knowin' dat I'se a honor ter de profeshion, up comes dis amachoor job an' it's saddled on ter me! Well, Beau, one t'ing is sure—de boys won't believe it.”
Mr. Snyme removed his hand from his mouth long enough to cheer the disconsolate Mr. Bilks by saying: “It's a pipe dey'll all believe it was youse, Slinkey. I tell 'em it ain't, but love ye, dey jest points ter de papers where it says youse was de professor, all right, all right.”
Mr. Bilks jumped to his feet, his short black poll bristling in a fierce rage as he growled:
“In de papers? As bad as dat? Fer de love of— Why, a year ago dey couldn't praise me enuff fer de Bridgehall job. I'll brace dat Inspector an' remind him who I is an' git him ter correct it.” And Mr. Bilks began putting on his coat.
Mr. Snyme nervously jumped to his feet and expostulated: “No! no! Slinkey. Don't do dat! Youse will git pinched, sure. Jest keep low an' de time will come when youse can wipe out de insult.”
“I know, Snyme,” choked Mr. Bilks, resuming his seat and shaking his head ruefully, “an' t'ank Heaven I ain't got no wife nor childer ter share de disgrace! But ter t'ink of Slinkey Bill, known from Portland, Maine, ter 'Frisco, bein' doped out fer doin' a yegg job! No drillin', mind ye, jest cold-blooded blacksmith work. An' here's me dat always considers de head guy's feelin's, an' if I has ter open a box in his office I don't leave no winder-glass broken. I never blew a safe-door t'rough a partition. I never mussed up de furniture an' sp'iled de carpets. No, sir, Slinkey Bill has always tried ter do a disagreeable job wid as little trouble ter de head gent as possible.”
“Dat's so, Slinkey,” agreed Mr. Snyme politely.
“Yes, sir, dat is so. Many de office-floor I've swept an' many de hard licks I've put in a-tidyin' up a joint after I'd made a clutter in coaxin' open de bin. Many de lame back I'se got from goin' out of my way ter be 'commodatin'. An' wot has all dis care an' trouble done fer me? Nut'in'. Wot's my reputation ter-day? Nut'in'. I've never believed in hurtin' a man's feelin's more'n I had ter. I never cracked a box an' scattered de goods all over de village so's dat de owner would know he'd ben touched by jest openin' his front door an' stubbin' his toe ag'in de hinges of his safe. I never stove in de side of a shack jest ter git at a vault. No, sir! I never even left a winder open so's it could rain in an' injure de rugs.”
“Dat's right, old pal,” nodded Mr. Snyme uneasily.
“Right? Fer de love of— Say, wot's our biz comin' ter? I'll tell youse, it's gittin' so's a man won't have any heart ter run a store or a saloon an' keep de wheels of industry busy, or nut'in'. Dat's wot it's comin' ter. Why, dem yeggs wot cracked dat Churchville safe sp'il t'ree hun'red dollers' worth of furniture fer every hun'red dey got in cash. T'ink of it! It all comes of lettin' some fresh guy, wot ain't no consideration fer a gent's feelin's, an' who ought ter be workin' in a foundry, do business in our line.”
Mr. Snyme shaded his eyes with his slouch hat and incidentally concealed a wave of red that swept over his hollow cheeks as Mr. Bilks so unmercifully arraigned the new man's work on the Churchville store.
“Dat don't help youse nut'in', Slink. De cops are trailin' youse all right, all right. I jest wanted ter do youse a good turn. So long,” and Mr. Snyme, his virtuous errand done, threw his hat on his head, thrust his hands into his capacious pockets and departed.
Long after the door had slammed, Mr. Bilks sat with puckered brows, staring intently at his broken pipe. It wasn't the danger of being arrested that disturbed him. It was his loss of caste. At last with a sigh he slouched down-stairs and procured an evening paper. Once back in his room his stubby forefinger wandered slowly about for nearly an hour before pausing on a short item to the effect that the police were on the trail of “Slinkey Bill,” now known to have committed the crime.
“Well, a man can only do his best ter save his good name,” he mused as he tossed something of steel into a well-worn hand-bag. “I owe it ter my friends ter wipe dis out.”
The Inspector stood in the office of the Churchville National Bank and gazed admiringly about him.
“Just notice, boys,” he begged of his subordinates, “how even the blanket he used in muffling the explosion is folded neatly on top of the safe. Just see where he has even swept up all odds and ends and carefully dumped them in the waste-paper basket. Not a thing disturbed that could be helped. Nothing injured unnecessarily. And the cashier found all the windows and doors securely locked this morning. Hang that Snyme for ever tipping Slinkey off as the man doing the job across the street. No, no, that wasn't Mr. Bilks's style. But this is. Why, he even scraped his rubbers on the mat and spread out newspapers so as not to soil the floor.”
Several months later, Mr. Bilks, affectionately linked to the arm of a deputy sheriff, went up to Sing Sing for robbing the Churchville bank. But his face glowed with pride as the deputy assured him over and over that every one was giving him his just credit and realized that the general-store job was not his work.
“An' who did do dat low-down bit?” inquired Mr. Bilks scornfully.
“Snyme,” replied the deputy. “He's ahead in the smoker. He's starting in on a three-year dip.”
“Fer de love of— Say, Beau, he's ter git out ahead of me, but jest wait till we meet, dat's all. Why, wot youse told me almost takes all de pleasure out of de trip.”
This work is in the public domain in the United States because it was published before January 1, 1929.
The longest-living author of this work died in 1940, so this work is in the public domain in countries and areas where the copyright term is the author's life plus 83 years or less. This work may be in the public domain in countries and areas with longer native copyright terms that apply the rule of the shorter term to foreign works.
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