The Abbeville messenger. (Abbeville, S.C.) 1884-1887, 1886-09-07
.
b. PHIBBS,
Burglar.
All Business Strictly Confidential.
Banks q Speciality,
80
b.

BANKS q Speciality. t:
Dir. Phibbs was indeed of a retiring
disposition. Moreover, he stood so higl
in his profession that, despite its %frequen,
Interruptions, he was beyond the feve,
and heat of mercenary competition. Or
q certain night Mr.. Phibbs was ploddina
his way through Allen street in reply to
a professional call. A dark, dismal stree,
1t was. on which a burning sun had
beamed down all day long; a bakers
oven that had been roasting rich and poor
and was now cooling off, while the
chimes of the far away church bells sang
themselves to rest; q black cavern of 8
street, fit, you would think, only for
murder and rapine. Mr.. Phibbs was in
it,and his eyes-vcry sharp, black eyes
set in dark caves of sockets, with lashes
like pushes above them. wandered up and
down the great storehouses. He was a
we'll built man, with a very long nose and
an over lip that was always being bitten
by his white teeth as though it had done
wrong.
On this night he carried a satchel in his
hand. Who could tell his thoughts as his
eyes ran up and down the black fronts3
Were they of all the precious things stored
within, of the fabrics dainty and rare, or
OF the tired, weary hands that had made
them and could never touch them acain2
MIR. Phibbs stopped at the door of one.
he smoothed the: iron bolts gently and
soothlngly as though the bolts had no
one to blame but themselves for not
knowing him sooner. He ran his hand
up and down the iron shutter also in a
r~eproachful amer. How still and calm
the great street is, like a cathedral when
the organ is hushed. Quickly the satchel
IS opened and a bar of steel is in the hand
OF the burglar. Itrests on the iron shutter.
Hank! What was that2 A step2 No.
only the sobbing of the wind. The bar
cuts into the iron deeper and deeper.
AGa1D tie sound lower and fainter, but
still tue same. The bar of steel is in the
left hand and a cleaning revolver
In his right, when the sound m again.
this time from his very feet. The moon
draws hor veil of cloud and the white
light shines down on q little childish
face there at the cracksman's feet.
MIR. Phibbs, from the nature of his
profession, was accustomed to surprises.
He bent his glance and saw that the face
below him was not of Allen street. r.
was a tender ~tace-only to be kissed by
mothers lips. On the little finger of
left hand CLEANED a tiny gold ring.
The collar at the throat was of lace. and
The other garments of rich texture. Mr..
Phbbs read the story in a second. He
knew some mamma shopping in Grand
street had lost her child, and he knew
hat the baking sun had almost stilled
The life beat in the little one. He felt
pulse. It had almost ceased to beat.
what would he do? Let it die2 It would
only be one more little unfortunate swal-
Owed up by the streets, or perchanca
cast on the bosom of the river. If he
we're to give it to a policeman he might
10 well say he was Mr.. Phibbs al once.
it die9 Had he not seen others
o~rettier and fairer smother and starvc
n the tenements2 There is a sound of
footsteps along the way. Slow, steady
footsteps, and Mr.. Phibbs knows thew
'elong to a man in a blue uniform.
Noul he escape himself and trust the
policeman to find the child? The foot
teps arc nearer. A memory comes over
mans mind; ar indistinct, strange
memory and face wrinkled and care
worm comes with it. A face it is look
ng very calm, and Mr.. Phibbs sees a
KING c~radle--what is that7 The face
bends down and kisses the one In the
:radle. How like and how unlike a
Like a weird shadow O mar is
peeding noiselessly down Allen street.
1t his breast is the face of q child. Be-
'ond the great warehouses flies the man;
'cyond the shufiing men and noisy
women on q lighted street; beyond the /
lark forms sleeping in the thoroughfare
Town where the houses are thickest, but
lever beyond that wrinkled, careworn
ace, nor the rocking cradle fashioned
My in memory.