Rock Island Argus. (Rock Island, Ill.) 1893-1920, 1904-06-29
DAILY SHORT STORY
[cepyright. 10. by G. 3. lewis
A Poet and a Burglar.

aunt's in the country while she was
away for a fortnight. and one night
heav5 hand was laid on my shoulder
in Il way to arouse me. 1 opened my
eyes 10 blink and wink at the light of
a lamp close by, and pretty soon 1 made
out the face and figure of a man bend
ing over me. He was a middle aged
man, not at all tough looking, and if he
hadn't had pistol in his hand 1 should
have taken him for anything but a
burglar.
Then you-you are a burglarT' 1
stammered as l sat up and rubbed my
eyes.
well, call it that" he replied, with
smile. There are two charges here,
legally speaking breaking and enter
ing in the nighttime and robbery from
a dwelling. That pretty nearly makes
me a burglar, l guess. Did you say
you'd lunch with me this evening? If
so, come along. You had an empty pis-
tol under your pillow, but removed it
before waking you up. Even an I'M
loaded pistol has been known to go off.
Are you cOming?"
Like one in trance l got out of bed
and dressed and then preceded him
downstairs and into the dining room,
where | found the table spread for
two. There We're the remains of a
cold ham, bread and butter. bottle of
wine, a tumbler of jelly, some cheese
and n bit of cake.
At that halcyon period Itwrote poetry
"A good deal of poetry. There We're
several of my poems" lying about the
library, and the robber gathered them
all up and brought themtto the table
and said:
Il used to be something of poet
myself till 1 struck better thing.
Here seems to be an odeito somebody
named Maggie. Just readlit, will yOu:"
I demurred and he insisted, and
felt like Il fool as I began to read.
Maggie was n girl 1 was somewhat
mashed on, and / had written sixteen
verses on her hair, eyes. mouth, hands
and feet. When l had finished the
first verse the robber laughed heartily
and said:
"Well. you are about the softest
thing of your age I ever struck! You
speak of Maggie's golden locks. You
don't mean brick color, eh?'
Il mean what 1 say" replied. with
Il show Of dignity, and then 1 laid
down the manuscript and told him 1
would not read another word Of it to
please him or any other robber living.
My dear boy" he said. with grin
On his face, you come about as near
being an idiot asylum as anybody l
ever met The idea Of n grownup man
with whiskers on his chin writing such
twaddle as this, You'd better go out
and hoe cabbage at n shilling day"
Il haven't asked you for advice"
raped back.
But you need it-lots Of It. Odes,
poems, idyls-ye gods! You sigh to
walk in the moonlight paths with the
idol of your heart, do you? Better sit
down in n comfortable room and eat
peanuts with her. You say the sun
goes down on your Borrowing heart.
Are you ass enough to think the sun is
going to change its routine on your ac-
count? Say, you amuse me. l haven't
met fool before for five years.
IF you We're not an armed robber do
you know what I'd dog 1 shouted in
my Indignation.
II can easily guess" he replied as he
chOlied back his laughter for a moment.
IF l wasn't an armed robber you'd
probably write a poem about me, and
il would be Just as slckish as these
here. \ poet in his little bed upstairs.
and he had his mouth wide open and
was snoring like a horse! 1 come here
to rob. 1 make n neat job of effecting
an entrance. l get out all the solid sill
yer and make a tidy bundle of 1t. do
the job in way to do honor to my
profession. I am all through when
discover pumpkin headed poet in his
bed and am made almost ashamed OF
my work.
MY son, l really can't leave the
house without giving you some adj
vice. It's no use to grit your teethtand
look ugly over it, because you've igot
to take your medicine. In the first
place, you are a rhymester unsteady of
poet There's no more poetry in
your verses than there is in that ham
bone
IF Maggie is the girl 1 take her to
be she'll never marry a rhymester. In
the next place, you are selfish and
cruel TO write of the moon, the silent
night, the vine clad hills and so forth
in the way you do. They are helpless
and can't hit back. In the third place,
you ought to be put in bed with
nursing bottle. Poetry-ye gOds!'
l glared at him and wanted to kill
him. but didn't know just what TO say
in reply.
You are put out and indignant and
all that" he said as we rose from the
table. and you will lay the f1attering
JUNCTION to your soul that 1 am preju-
diced person. but that won't help you
in the long run. 4 young man OF your
age and build who will dawdle his
days and weeks away on rhymes has
4 cOrkscrew loose in the top Of his
head and will either turn out a fool or
con man. Oblige me by'stepping into
this close"