The star. (Reynoldsville, Pa.) 1892-1946, 1905-08-23

| ing rather queerly at the closet, as II
he thought 1t might be pro6tably inves.
tlgated. l had g rather bad minute
Just about this time, and felt greatly
relieved when he went silently frorl
the room, leaving the door open behind
him. For some minutes afterward |
could hear him walking down the halls
and through the uncarpeted rooms of
the old place. was just beginning
to hope that he would find his investi.
CATION so barren of results as to cause
him to leave the house In disgust, when
his footsteps now sounded in the hall
leading to my room, and an instant
later he was with me again. He looked
about him; then walking over to my
table, he picked up my unfinished man.
uscript, contemplated 1t a moment, and
thrust 1t into his coat pocket. Then
going over to the coal box he scooped
up generous shovelful of coal and
threw it upon the fire, which had near
ly gone out. After which he calmly
almost luxurlously-drew my chair up
to the fire, laid his pistol on the table
within easy reach, and proceeded to
read my manuscript. He was clearly
a most extraordinary burglar.
At first the unexpectedness of his
singular actions dazed me; then the
boldness Of them fairly took me off
my feet. l watched my felonious
friend narrowly, noting with pardon
able pride that he semeed interested in
my story. Then sudden wild idea
seized me. Why not enlist the aid of
my degenerate guest in the noble cause
of literature? Indeed, could anything
be more appropriate? Surely, / reas-
oned, it does not necessarily follow
that no good can come from burglar.
And this one seemed unusually intelli-
gent. The more / thought of the idea
the more it pleased me, the more it
took hold of me. Still l hesitated.
The thing was undeniably dangerous.
To be sure, had obtained my knowl-
edge OF guns on a cattle ranch, and
felt that | could shoot about as fast
and as straight as nine burglars out of
ten. But what if this burglar hap
pened to be the tenth? l had Just
about come to the conclusion that |
had better lie low until my knight of
the dark lantern had departed, when
something occurred that suddenly
changed my plans. AS the burglar
finished the manuscript, he yawned
and laid it back on the table with the
muttered remark: Nobody but a
blamed idiot would act like that
burglarw
Those were unfortunate words for
him. For no sooner had he delivered
himself Of this caustic and unmerited
aspersion on my powers of character
ization than sailed forth with blood
in my usually tranquil eye. He
reached as if for his pistol. "Cut it out
quick" I snapped, with as much in.
clsiveness and determination as mild
and peaceable author could reasonably
be expected to muster. Then picked
up his gun and placed it in my pocket
after which / addressed myself again
to my burglar. Now, my good friend,'
l said, pleasantly, seeing that you
have expressed dissatisfaction at my
conception Of your calling, I shall be
indeed grateful to you if you will give
me some idea Of what true burglar is
like. You will find my fountain pen an
exceptionally smooth writer"
The burglar regarded me for q mo-
ment with puzzled face. I'm not a
burglar any more than you arer' he
then said, with short, snappy laugh.
His statement almost made me drop
my pistol. But l never took my eyes
off him. Then sudden idea occurred
to me. "Take off youi maskw l
commanded.
Off came the black cloth. One look
at that thin, SCARED face, with its
crooked mouth and restless, shifty blue
eyes, convinced me that if ever a
burglar lived, here was a choice speci-
men. But determined to humor him.
That may be-" I said. "At any rate,
will you have the kindness to place on
paper-and perhaps hand down to a
grateful generation of authors-a true
description of the most exciting bur-
glary you have ever committed?"
He looked at me in apparent aston
ishment. why" he replied, smiling
broadly, I'm writer myself. l just
fixed up in these togs for bluff. I'm
out for the same thing you are. I
thought this old place was deserted
That's why l came here. I'm an Am
herst man." he said, with a tinge of
pride that was either real or else ex-
ceedingly well done. "Class of ninety.
| four"
But the farce had proceeded far
enough.
"Will you kindly explain to me in
what way you expect your literary
experience to be enriched by purloin.
ing my watch?" asked, politely, wish
ing to bring matters to a head.
! For reply the burglar sprang at me-