Santa Fe new Mexican. [volume] (Santa Fe, N.M.) 1898-1951, 1899-06-05
HIS BURGLAR.

Whitridge lived in the suburbs. When
he made his confession to me, he admitted
that this was a reckless thing to do when
one considered the inconvenience of cross
ing the ferry, riding in a trainful of COM
muters, changing to a trolley car and
finally cropping through dark park. But,
as he explained, the heart, like the wind,
goes pretty much where it wills, and his
had taken up it's abode In the old Walton
house, some 10 miles from the city, and
after all 1t was not 80 bad.
Whitridge was such an indolent man
that it seemed to his friends rather strange
that he should have chosen to worship at
a shrine that could be reached only by q
veritable pilgrimage. His l~aziness was
natural and sensible, for his grandfather
had dried up in an old tea warehouse on
Front street and left him a million. Be-
fore that he had pottered a little in law
and had even advanced SO far as to defend
a celebrated burglar known as One Eyed
Grogan, who was acquitted because of the
shrewdness of his counsel's cross examina-
tion and the %eloquence of his plea. Then
Whitridge retired from the bar mi took
to doing nothing. He did it well.
Such a career met the severe %disapprov-
al Of Dorothea Walton, who, like most
women of the suburbs, was cultured and
had ideas. Never having done any work
herself except to study the labor question
from it's philosophic side, she believed that
every man should be busy eight hours Of
the "a. So when Whitridge asked her
to marry him she said abruptly: but
you don't work. You are a man without
an aim in life."
"My grandfather worked and had aims
for me-" Whitridge replied.
EVERY man should do something In
this world, even if it is only driving an
express wagon" said the girl warmly.
"You are a mar without ambitions
man who might as we'll not be living at
all. You''-
sit seems to me you are just a little
hard, " he interrupted, reproachfully.
"Of course you know l like you" Doro-
thea went on more kindly. "But tt seems
so much nobler for a maj to say to a wo-
man I shall slave all day in the office for
you than I've got 3 $1,000, 900 and am
willing to share it with you Now,
doesn't it?"
II think the average woman would say,
I'll share the million; don't bother about
the office, 4" was the grim reply.
Dorothea flushed.
"You consider me al average woman,
them"
"No, nor cried Whitridge. "And II
you will I shall slave for you. I'll go
down town and plod along at the law and
we can live on what I make"
"Now you talk foolishly," said she. II
do not demand work for work. g sake, but
1t seems to me that for a nan to be with
out an occupation In these times shows a
lack Of brains"
''But 1t takes a great deal of brains to
do nothing andSto do it respectfully. And,
after all, / don't think you can say that l
am very bad" ~.
"No. And that's where more trouble
comes. You are not even reformable. A
woman might devote herself to the work
of reforming a man, but you offer nothing
but mere money"
"And love-" Whitridge blurted out,
and he was overcome with confusion. He
blushed and began to tear nervously al
the lapels Of his coat. But his embarrass-
ment served to emphasize his honesty and
! sincerity.
The girl recognized this and said kind.
": II know I am foolish, Sam, but J
have queer ideas perhaps. So don't tall
Of 1t any more.
'sThen good night" said he, rising
abruptly from his chair and holding out
his hand.
"Good night" said she. IT trust yor
will be able to find your way to the street
without trouble. It Is very dark"
II have travelled the path often enough
to know IT," he said with a forced laugh
1T guess I shall not have much reason
to follow 1t often after this" Whitridgt
turned and walked from the room. Doro
thea Walton stood as he had left her, gaz
ing abstraotedly into the fire. She heart
the door close with o bang a few minute
later, and by q sudden impulse she ran VI
to her room, turned out the light. threw
back the curtains, noiselessly raised tn
window and peered out into the darkness
II she expected to get a glimpse OF Whit
ridge as he disappeared into the blacknes
or to hear the gravel %orunching beneath
his feet, she Was disappointed. She close
the window with q crash.
Dorothea Walton's disappointment ha'
its origin In Q doorknob, one OF thos
modern o~ontrivances that are such q ban
to the man who calls. When Whitridg
reached the hall, he put on his overcoa
and hat, opened the first door and close
It behind him. This left him standing i
the vestibule. He seized the knob Of tn
outer door, turned It and pulled, but t
no avail. Then he turned the knob tn
other way and pulled, but the door di
not bulge. He turned and pushed an
pushed and turned, but his efforts wer
not rewarded.
Now, In the IS years of his life Whit
ridge had learned that locks are very hu
man; that they resent harsh treatnen
and are susceptible to kindness and pei
s~uas.on, 80 he gave this particular one
good long breathing spell, approached
again, "a though he were afraid Of disturb
ing 1t, and turned II 90 gently that had
been sleeping 1t would hardly have bee
awakened. He went just % far and stol
ped. He gave 1t = violent jerk and . forc,
full jam-all to no avail. Again be reste
and again attacked the obstinate mechar
ism only TO confess himself utterly beater
He thought Of arousing the family, bu
beering through the frosted glass into th
dimly lighted hall be saw that the famil
had retired for the night. The idsa {
being found in such . position was repu
sive to him. After what had occurre
i. was he to confess that he had been cor
quered by q doorknobf He certainly wa
not, or at least until all hope wal gon,
He remembered that she had said that hi
father was in town and would be at HON
~ 10 O'Clock. II war an hour yet, but
believed that he could persuade the Of
gentleman to hold his peace, and that VI
worth long and weary waiting.