Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1895-11-23

compassionate smile. "You can object to
sculpture if you like, Joe.' he said. with an
air of superior culture; you amt been edu-
Gated up to 1t; but have no such supersti.
tions. I'm not afraid of the stone women
by day or by night. Fine work, that d.
anal For the Gentleman Burglar having
been once a lawyers clerk, rather prided
himself upon his taste, and fancied ne
knew q thing or two about art and
music.
Joe Stokes. for his part, smoked and
ruminated. well. you can be inner war
den." he remarked, after a pause, making
rings with his smoke, lard I'll keep an eye
outside on the Charley. If you like stone
women, 1 don't want to interfere with any
gentleman's tastes. But they give me the
cold shivers, they do, standing there all
the time. as white as corpse, and rolling
their dead eyes at you. It's them dead eyes
that beats me. Ever seen Mary Anderson
in 'Pygmalion and Galatea, don't they call
the thing?"
Charming piecew the Gentleman Burglar
muttered. Charming, charming, charm
ing"
as plays in that act makes one of these ere
stone gals; and. after he's made her, he
prays to the 'eathen gods, and she comes
suddenly to life, and down she steps OF
her pedestal? Now, II l was sent out on
job like that, in big. bare gallery, and
night time, too, among all them stone Wo-
men, I'd feel skeered, 1 know l would. that
enc of them stone gals was going to step
down from her perch like that, and come
in front of me, bothering.
you pay a great tribute to Miss Ander-
sons acting" the Gentleman Burglar re-
torted, with his air of polite life. ITS the
excellence of her art that made 1t so I'M
That's Just where 1t Is" Joe replied.
noddng his head, acquiescent You see
thing at the play, and 1t kind O sinks IN
with you. 1t works on the emotions
never can look at stone gal again Win
out half expecting to see her bundle down
Iipp
Sto-kesp same she'd used to call out,
'Pig-may-lon! Pigmay-lionE like dyin'
duck in the manner o speaking. -
Mr. Maurice Miller's lip curled This critl-
cism seemed crude to him. For man who
has been brought up among sculpture, ne
answered, lightly. statues have no such
terrors. I'd take no more notice OF them
than the pictures on the wall. SO, perhaps,
I'd better manage this job myself. noted
the best things as We went through just
now; and l won't waste any unnecessar!
time, of course, in looking Tor them III the
cases.
Then he strolled to the window and gazed
out across the street There was little VII
lage diapers shop just opposite and the
harmless small curate in the pronounced
hassock was standing by the counter, buy
ing some yards of white calico. Local par
son." the Gentleman Burglar reflected to
himself. with a sheer, buying stuff for his
wife Seems soft-headed little chap; silly,
sawney sort of smile; but got some good In
formation for me out of the butler tins
morning. Pretentious cad, that hutler!
What airs he did give himself!' For there's
nothing your pretentious man more thor
oughly despises Gin other people, than pre-
Righteousness!
1t was past IL that night before the Gentle
man Burglar, accompanied by Joe Stokes,
with few needful tools, strolled noiselessiy
out of the ground floor parlor, whose low
French windows, opening to the ground, eX-
acty suited his purpose. In half an hour
more by the aid of his faithful and we'll
tried jimmy, he was standing in dim light
in the midst of the ducal sculpture gallery.
He hardly vouchsafed a glance at the
stone gals" as his partner Joe so graphi-
cally called them, but stole on, with cat-like
tread and dark lantern yelled. to the case
with the gold Etruscan iewelry. 1t was a
pity, he thought to himself las man of cul
ture) he would have to melt them down.
Those jewels as they stood were worth
thousands as antiquities, and the melting
pot would reduce them in less than half an
hour to a few hundred pounds worth of
ordinary bullion. But you mustn't be sem
timentaliSt II you want to crack cribs!
Every profession imposes upon you its own
special sacrifices. Business is business, and
few hundred pounds in your private pocket
are better, after all, than any amount of
time-honored Etruscan relics in a ducal mu-
scum.
So he stole on to the base of a Roman
emperor's statue, just observing as he
passed, by the dim light of his bulls-eye, the