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diff --git a/old/1285-0.txt b/old/1285-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..c3049f6 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/1285-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,2101 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Water Goats and Other Troubles, by +Ellis Parker Butler + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Water Goats and Other Troubles + +Author: Ellis Parker Butler + +Posting Date: September 17, 2008 [EBook #1285] +Release Date: April, 1998 +Last Updated: March 11, 2018 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE WATER GOATS AND OTHER TROUBLES *** + + + + +Produced by An Anonymous Volunteer + + + + + +THE WATER GOATS AND OTHER TROUBLES + +By Ellis Parker Butler + + +By The Same Author + + Pigs is Pigs + + The Great American Pie Company + + Mike Flannery On Duty and off + + The Thin Santa Claus + + That Pup, Kilo, etc. + + + + + +THE WATER GOATS AND OTHER TROUBLES + + + +CONTENTS + +I. THE WATER GOATS II. MR. BILLINGS'S POCKETS III. OUR FIRST BURGLAR + + + + +I. THE WATER GOATS + + +“And then,” said the landscape gardener, combing his silky, pointed +beard gently with his long, artistic fingers, “in the lake you might +have a couple of gondolas. Two would be sufficient for a lake of this +size; amply sufficient. Yes,” he said firmly, “I would certainly advise +gondolas. They look well, and the children like to ride on them. And so +do the adults. I would have two gondolas in the lake.” + +Mayor Dugan and the City Council, meeting as a committee of the whole +to receive the report of the landscape gardener and his plan for the new +public park, nodded their heads sagely. + +“Sure!” said Mayor Dugan. “We want two of thim--of thim gon--thim gon--” + +“Gondolas,” said the landscape gardener. “Sure!” said Mayor Dugan, “we +want two of thim. Remimber th' gondolas, Toole.” + +“I have thim fast in me mind,” said Toole. “I will not let thim git +away, Dugan.” + +The landscape gardener stood a minute in deep thought, looking at the +ceiling. + +“Yes, that is all!” he said. “My report, and the plan, and what I have +mentioned, will be all you need.” + +Then he shook hands with the mayor and with all the city councilmen +and left Jeffersonville forever, going back to New York where landscape +gardeners grow, and the doors were opened and the committee of the whole +became once more the regular meeting of the City Council. + +The appropriation for the new park was rushed through in twenty minutes, +passing the second and third readings by the reading of the title under +a suspension of the by-laws, and being unanimously adopted. It was a +matter of life and death with Mayor Dugan and his ring. Jeffersonville +was getting tired of the joyful grafters, and murmurs of discontent +were concentrating into threats of a reform party to turn the +cheerful rascals out. The new park was to be a sop thrown to the +populace--something to make the city proud of itself and grateful to its +mayor and council. It was more than a pet scheme of Mayor Dugan, it +was a lifeboat for the ring. In half an hour the committees had been +appointed, and the mayor turned to the regular business. Then from his +seat at the left of the last row little Alderman Toole arose. + +“Misther Mayor,” he said, “how about thim--thim don--thim don--Golas!” + whispered Alderman Grevemeyer hoarsely, “dongolas.” + +“How about thim dongolas, Misther Mayor?” asked Alderman Toole. + +“Sure!” said the mayor. “Will annyone move that we git two dongolas t' +put in th' lake for th' kids t' ride on? Will annyone move that Alderman +Toole be a conmittee of wan t' git two dongolas t' put in th' lake?” + +“I make dot motions,” said Alderman Greveneyer, half raising his great +bulk from his seat and sinking back with a grunt. + +“Sicond th' motion,” said Alderman Toole. + +“Moved and siconded,” said the mayor, “that Alderman Toole be a +committee t' buy two dongolas t' put in th' lake for th' kids t' ride +on. Ye have heard th' motion.” + +The motion was unanimously carried. That was the kind of City Council +Mayor Dugan had chosen. + +When little Alderman Toole dropped into Casey's saloon that night on his +way home he did not slip meekly to the far end of the bar, as he usually +did. For the first time in his aldermanic career he had been put on a +committee where he would really have something to do, and he felt +the honour. He boldly took a place between the big mayor and Alderman +Grevemeyer, and said: “One of th' same, Casey,” with the air of a man +who has matters of importance on his mind. He felt that things were +coming his way. Even the big mayor seemed to appreciate it, for he put +his hand affectionately on Toole's shoulder. + +“Mike,” said the mayor, “about thim dongolas, now; have ye thought anny +about where ye would be gettin' thim?” + +“I have not,” said Toole. “I was thinkin' 'twould be good t' think it +over a bit, Dugan. Mebby 'twould be best t' git thim at Chicagy.” He +looked anxiously at the mayor's face, hoping for some sign of approval +or disapproval, but the mayor's face was noncommittal. “But mebby it +wouldn't,” concluded Toole. As a feeler he added: “Would ye be wantin' +me t' have thim made here, Dugan?” + +The big mayor patted Toole on the shoulder indulgently. + +“It's up t' you, Mike,” he said. “Ye know th' way Dugan does things, an' +th' way he likes thim done. I trust thim that I kin trust, an' whin I +put a man on committee I'm done wid th' thing. Of coorse,” he added, +putting his mouth close to Toole's ear, and winking at Grevemeyer, “ye +will see that there is a rake-off for me an' th' byes.” + +“Sure!” said Toole. + +The big mayor turned back to the bar and took a drink from his glass. +Grevemeyer took a drink from his glass, also. So did Toole, gravely. +Dugan wiped his mouth on the back of his hand and turned to Toole again. + +“Mike,” he said, “what do ye think? Mebby 'twould do as well t' git a +couple of sicond-hand dongolas an' have thim painted up. If they was in +purty good shape no wan would know th' difference, an' 'twould make a +bit more rake-off fer th' byes, mebby.” + +“Th' same word was on th' ind o' me tongue, Dugan,” said Toole, nodding +his head slowly. “I was considerin' this very minute where I could lay +me hand on a couple of purty good dongolas that has not been used much. +Flannagan could paint thim up fine!” + +“Or Stoltzenau could do such paintings,” interposed Grevemeyer. + +“Sure!” agreed the big mayor. He toyed with his glass a moment. “Mike,” + he said suddenly, “what th' divil is a dongola, anyhow?” + +Mike Toole was just raising his glass to his lips with the movements of +one accustomed to hold conversation with the mayor. His left hand rested +on his hip, with his arm akimbo, and his hat was tipped carelessly to +the back of his head. The hand raising his glass stopped short where it +was when he heard the mayor's question. He frowned at the glass--scowled +at it angrily. + +“A dongola, Dugan”--he said slowly, and stopped. “A dongola”--he +repeated. “A dongola--did ye ask me what a dongola might be, Dugan?” + +The big mayor nodded, and Grevemeyer leaned forward to catch the answer. +Casey, too, leaned on his bar and listened. Alderman Toole raised his +glass to his lips and filled his mouth with the liquor. Instantly he +dashed the glass furiously to the floor. He jerked off his hat and cast +it into a far corner and pulled off his coat, throwing it after his hat. +He was climbing on to the bar when the big mayor and Grevemeyer laid +their hands on the little man and held him tightly. The big mayor shook +him once and set him on the floor. + +“Mike!” said the big mayor. “What's th' matter wid ye? What are ye goin' +afther Casey that way for? Is it crazy ye are? Or have ye gone insane?” + +“Knock-out drops!” shouted Toole, shaking his fist at Casey, who looked +down at him in astonishment. “Knock-out drops! I will have th' law on +ye, Casey. I will have th' joint closed! I'll teach ye t' be givin' +knock-out drops t' th' aldermin of th' city!” + +“Mike!” cried the big mayor, giving him another vigorous shake. “Shut up +wid ye! Casey wouldn't be givin' ye annything that wasn't good for ye. +Casey wouldn't be givin' ye knock-out drops.” + +“No?” whispered Mike angrily. “No? Wouldn't he, Dugan? An' what has he +done t' me mimory, then, Dugan? What has he put in th' drink t' rob +me of me mimory? Wan minute ago I knew as well anny other man what a +dongola is like, an' now I have no mimory of anny dongolas at all. Wan +minute ago I could have told ye th' whole history of dongolas, from th' +time of Adam up till now, an' have drawed a picture of wan that annywan +could recognize--an' now I wouldn't know wan if ye was show it t' me! I +was about t' tell ye th' whole history of dongolas, Dugan; 'twas on th' +ind of me tongue t' give ye a talk on dongolas, whin I took a drink. Ye +saw me take a drink, Grevemeyer?” + +“Ya!” said Grevemeyer, nodding his head solemnly. “You took such a +drink!” + +“Sure,” said Toole, arranging his vest. “Grevemeyer saw me take th' +drink--an now I have no mimory of dongolas at all. If ye was t' show me +a chromo of wan I wouldn't know was it a dongola or what. I'm ashamed of +ye, Casey!” + +“If ye done it, Casey, ye hadn't have ought t' have done it,” said Dugan +reprovingly. “Th' mind of him might be ruined intirely.” + +“Stop, Dugan!” said Toole hastily. “I forgive him. Me mind will likely +be all right by mornin'. 'Tis purty good yit, ixcipt on th' subjict of +dongolas. I'm timporarily out of remimbrance what dongolas is. 'Tis odd +how thim knock-out drops works, Grevemeyer.” + +“Ya!” said the alderman unsuspectingly, “gifing such a forgetfulness on +such easy things as dongolas.” + +“Sure! You tell Dugan what dongolas is, Grevemeyer,” said Toole quickly. + +Grevemeyer looked at his glass thoughtfully. His mind worked slowly +always, but he saw that it would not do for him to have knock-out drops +so soon after Toole. + +“Ach!” he exclaimed angrily. “You are insulting to me mit such questions +Toole. So much will I tell you--never ask Germans what is dongolas. It +is not for Germans to talk about such things. Ask Casey.” + +Casey scratched his head thoughtfully. + +“Dongolas?” he repeated. “I have heard th' word, Grevemeyer. Wait a bit! +'Tis something about shoes. Sure! I remimber, now! 'Twas dongola shoes +wan of me kids had, last winter, an' no good they were, too. Dongolas is +shoes, Grevemeyer--laced shoes--dongolas is laced shoes.” + +The big mayor leaned his head far back and laughed long and loud. He +pounded on the bar with his fist, and slapped Toole on the back. + +“Laced shoes!” he cried, wiping his eyes, and then he became suddenly +serious. “'Twould not be shoes, Casey,” he said gravely. “Thim dongolas +was ricomminded by th' landscape-gardener from New Yorrk. 'Twould not be +sinsible t' ricommind us put a pair of laced shoes in th' park lake fer +th' kids t' ride on.” + +“'Twould not seem so,” said Toole, shaking his head wisely. “I wisht me +mind was like it always is. 'Tis a pity--” + +“Stop!” cried Casey. “I have it! Thim was kid shoes. Thim dongolas was +kid shoes.” + +“So said, Casey,” said Duo'an “For th' kid.” + +“No,” said Casey, “of th' kid.” + +“Sure!” said Gravemeyer. “So it is--the shoes of the child.” + +“Right fer ye!” exclaimed Casey. “Th' kid shoes of th' kid. 'Twas kid +leather they were made out of, Dugan. Th' dongola is some fancy kind +of a goat. Like box-calf is th' skin of th' calf of th' box-cow. Th' +dongola is some foreign kind of a goat, Dugan.” + +“Ho, ho-o-o!” cried Toole, suddenly, knocking on his forehead with +the knuckles of his fist. The three men turned their eyes upon him and +stared. + +“What ails ye now, Mike?” asked Dugan, disgustedly. + +“Ho-o-o!” he cried again, slapping himself on the top of his head. “Me +mind is comm' back t' me, Dugan! Th' effects of th' knock-out drops is +wearin' off! I recall now that th' dongola is some fancy kind of a goat. +'Twill all come back t' me soon. + +“Go along wid ye!” exclaimed Dugan. “Would ye be puttin' a goat in th' +lake for th' kids t' ride on?” + +“Sure!” said Toole enthusiastically. “Sure I would, Dugan. Not th' +common goat I wouldn't. But dongola goats I would. Have ye heard of +dongola water goats, Casey? Was thim dongola goat skin shoes warranted +t' be water-proof?” + +Casey wrinkled his brow. + +“'Tis like they was, Toole,” he said doubtfully. “'Tis like they was +warranted t' be, but they wasn't.” + +“Sure!” cried Toole joyously. “'Tis water-proof th' skin of th' dongola +water goats is, like th' skin of th' duck. An' swim? A duck isn't in it +wid a water goat. I remimber seein' thim in ould Ireland whin I was +a bye, Dugan, swimmin in th' lake of Killarney. Ah, 'twas a purty +picture.” + +“I seem t' remimber thim mesilf,” he said. “Not clear, but a bit.” + +“Sure ye do!” cried Toole. “Many's the time I have rode across th' lake +on th' back of a dongola. Me own father, who was a big man in th' ould +country, used t' keep a pair of thim for us childer. 'Twas himself +fetched thim from Donnegal, Dugan. 'Twas from Donnegal they got th' name +of thim, an' 'twas th' name ye give thim that misled me. Donnegoras +was what we called thim in th' ould counry--donnegoras from Donnegal. I +remimber th' two of thim I had whin I was a kid, Dugan--wan was a Nanny, +an' wan was a Billy, an'--” + +“Go on home, Mike,” said Dugan. “Go on home an' sleep it off!” and the +little alderman from the Fourth Ward picked up his hat and coat, and +obeyed his orders. + +Instituting a new public park and seeing that in every purchase and +every contract there is a rake-off for the ring is a big job, and +between this and the fight against the rapidly increasing strength of +the reform party, Mayor Dugan had his hands more than full. He had no +time to think of dongolas, and he did not want to think of them--Toole +was the committee on dongolas, and it was his duty to think of them, +and to worry about them, if any worry was necessary. But Toole did not +worry. He sat down and wrote a letter to his cousin Dennis, official +keeper of the zoo in Idlewild Park at Franklin, Iowa. + + +“Dear Dennis,” he wrote. “Have you any dongola goats in your menagery +for I want two right away good strong ones answer right away your +affectionate cousin alderman Michael Toole.” + +“Ps monny no object.” + + +When Dennis Toole received this letter he walked through his zoo and +considered his animals thoughtfully. The shop-worn brown bear would not +do to fill cousin Mike's order; neither would the weather-worn red deer +nor the family of variegated tame rabbits. The zoo of Idlewild Park at +Franklin was woefully short of dongola goats--in fact, to any but the +most imaginative and easily pleased child, it was lacking in nearly +every thing that makes a zoo a congress of the world's most rare and +thrilling creatures. After all, the nearest thing to a goat was a goat, +and goats were plenty in Franklin. Dennis felt an irresistible longing +to aid Mike--the longing that comes to any healthy man when a request +is accompanied by the legend “Money no object.” He wrote that evening to +Mike. + + +“Dear Mike,” he wrote. “I've got two good strong dongola goats I can let +you have cheap. I'm overstocked with dongolas to-day. I want to get rid +of two. Zoo is getting too crowded with all kinds of animals and I +don't need so many dongola goats. I will sell you two for fifty dollars. +Apiece. What do you want them for? Your affectionate cousin, Dennis +Toole, Zoo keeper. PS. Crates extra.” + + +“Casey,” said Mike to his friend the saloon keeper when he received this +communication, “'tis just as I told ye--dongolas is goats. I have +been corrispondin' with wan of th' celibrated animal men regardin' th' +dongola water goat, an' I have me eye on two of thim this very minute. +But 'twill be ixpinsive, Casey, mighty ixpinsive. Th' dongola water +goat is a rare birrd, Casey. They have become extinct in th' lakes +of Ireland, an' what few of thim is left in th' worrld is held at +outrajeous prices. In th' letter I have from th' animal man, Casey, he +wants two hundred dollars apiece for each dongola water goat, an' 'twill +be no easy thing for him t' git thim.” + +“Hasn't he thim in his shop, Mike?” asked Casey. + +“He has not, Casey,” said the little alderman. “He has no place for +thim. Cages he has, an' globes for goldfish, an' birrd cages, but th' +size of th' shop l'aves no room for an aquarium, Casey. He has no tank +for the preservation of water goats. Hippopotamuses an' alligators an' +crocodiles an' dongola water goats an' sea lions he does not keep in +stock, Casey, but sinds out an' catches thim whin ordered. He writes +that his agints has their eyes on two fine dongolas, an' he has +tiligraphed thim t' catch thim.” + +“Are they near by, Mike?” asked Casey, much interested. + +“Naw,” said Toole. “'Twill be some time till I git thim. Th' last he +heard of thim they were swimmin' in th' Lake of Geneva.” + +“Is it far, th' lake?” asked Casey. + +“I disremimber how far,” said Toole. “'Tis in Africa or Asia, or mebby +'tis in Constantinople. Wan of thim countries it is, annyhow.” + +But to his cousin Dennis he wrote: + + +“Dear Dennis--I will take them two dongolas. Crate them good and solid. +Do not send them till I tell you. Send the bill to me. Your affectionate +cousin alderman Michael Toole. Ps Make bill for two hundred dollars a +piece. Business is business. This is between us two. M. T.” + + +A Keeper of the Water Goats had been selected with the utmost care, +combining in the choice practical politics with a sense of fitness. +Timothy Fagan was used to animals--for years he had driven a dumpcart. +He was used to children--he had ten or eleven of his own. And he +controlled several votes in the Fourth Ward. His elevation from the +dump-cart of the street cleaning department to the high office of +Keeper of the Water Goats was one that Dugan believed would give general +satisfaction. + +When the goats arrived in Jeffersonville the two heavy crates were +hauled to Alderman Toole's back yard to await the opening of the park, +and there Mayor Dugan and Goat Keeper Fagan came to inspect them. +Alderman Toole led the way to them with pride, and Mayor Dugan's creased +brow almost uncreased as he bent down and peered between the bars of the +crates. They were fine goats. Perhaps they looked somewhat more dejected +than a goat usually looks--more dirty and down at the heels than a goat +often looks--but they were undoubtedly goats. As specimens of ordinary +Irish goats they might not have passed muster with a careful buyer, but +no doubt they were excellent examples of the dongola. + +“Ye have done good, Mike,” said the mayor. “Ye have done good! But ain't +they mebby a bit off their feed--or something?” + +“Off their feed!” said Toole. “An' who wouldn't be, poor things? Mind +ye, Dugan, thim is not common goats--thim is dongolas--an' used to bein' +in th' wather con-continuous from mornin' till night. 'Tis sufferin' for +a swim they be, poor animals. Wance let thim git in th' lake an' ye will +see th' difference, Dugan. 'Twill make all th' difference in th' worrld +t' thim. 'Tis dyin' for a swim they are.” + +“Sure!” said the Keeper of the Water Goats. “Ye have done good, Mike,” + said the mayor again. “Thim dongolas will be a big surprise for th' +people.” + +They were. They surprised the Keeper of the Goats first of all. The day +before the park was to be opened to the public the goats were taken to +the park and turned over to their official keeper. At eleven +o'clock that morning Alderman Toole was leaning against Casey's bar, +confidentially pouring into his ear the story of how the dongolas had +given their captors a world of trouble, swimming violently to the far +reaches of Lake Geneva and hiding among the bulrushes and reeds, when +the swinging door of the saloon was banged open and Tim Fagan rushed in. +He was mad. He was very mad, but he was a great deal wetter than mad. He +looked as if he had been soaked in water over night, and not wrung out +in the morning. + +“Mike!” he whispered hoarsely, grasping the little alderman by the arm. +“I want ye! I want ye down at th' park.” + +A chill of fear passed over Alderman Toole. He turned his face to Fagan +and laid his hand on his shoulder. + +“Tim,” he demanded, “has annything happened t' th' dongolas?” + +“Is annything happened t' th' dongolas!” exclaimed Fagan sarcastically. +“Is annything wrong with thim water goats? Oh, no, Toole! Nawthin' +has gone wrong with thim! Only they won't go into th' wather, Mike! Is +annything gone wrong with thim, did ye say? Nawthin'! They be in good +health, but they are not crazy t' be swimmin'. Th' way they do not +hanker t' dash into th' water is marvellous, Mike. No water for thim!” + +“Hist!” said Toole uneasily, glancing around to see that no one but +Casey was in hearing. “Mebby ye have not started thim right, Tim.” + +“Mebby not,” said Fagan angrily. “Mebby I do not know how t' start th' +water goat, Toole! Mebby there is one way unbeknownst t' me. If so, I +have not tried it. But th' forty-sivin other ways I have tried, an' th' +goats will not swim. I have started thim backwards an' I have started +thim frontwards, an' I have took thim in by th' horns an' give thim +lessons t' swim, an' they will not swim! I have done me duty by thim, +Mike, an' I have wrastled with thim, an' rolled in th' lake with thim. +Was it t' be swimmin' teacher t' water goats ye got me this job for?” + +“Hist!” said Toole again. “Not so loud, Tim! Ye haven't told Dugan have +ye?” + +“I have not!” said Tim, with anger. “I have not told annybody annything +excipt thim goats an' what I told thim is not dacint hearin'. I have +conversed with thim in strong language, an' it done no good. No swimmin' +for thim! Come on down an' have a chat with thim yersilf, Toole. Come +on down an' argue with thim, an persuade thim with th' soft sound of yer +voice t' swim. Come on down an' git thim water goats used t' th' water.” + +“Ye don't understand th' water goat, Tim,” said Toole in gentle reproof. +“I will show ye how t' handle him,” and he went out, followed by the wet +Keeper of the Water Goats. + +The two water goats stood at the side of the lake, wet and mournful, +tied to two strong stakes. They looked weary and meek, for they had had +a hard morning, but as soon as they saw Tim Fagan they brightened up. +They arose simultaneously on their hind legs and their eyes glittered +with deadly hatred. They strained at their ropes, and then, suddenly, +panic-stricken, they turned and ran, bringing up at the ends of their +ropes with a shock that bent the stout stakes to which they were +fastened. They stood still and cowered, trembling. + +“Lay hold!” commanded Toole. “Lay hold of a horn of th' brute till I +show ye how t' make him swim.” + +Through the fresh gravel of the beach the four feet of the reluctant +goat ploughed deep furrows. It shook its head from side to side, but +Toole and Fagan held it fast, and into the water it went. + +“Now!” cried Alderman Toole. “Git behind an' push, Tim! Wan! Two! Three! +Push!” + +Alderman Toole released his hold and Keeper of the Water Goats Fagan +pushed. Then they tried the other goat. It was easier to try the other +water goat than to waste time hunting up the one they had just tried, +for it had gone away. As soon as Alderman Toole let it go, it went. It +seemed to want to get to the other end of the park as soon as possible, +but it did not take the short cut across the lake--it went around. But +it did not mind travel--it went to the farthest part of the park, and it +would have gone farther if it could. So Alderman Toole and Keeper Fagan +tried the other water goat. That one went straight to the other end of +the park. It swerved from a straight line but once, and that was when +it shied at a pail of water that was in the way. It did not seem to like +water. + +In the Franklin Zoo Dennis Toole had just removed the lid of his tin +lunch-pail when the telegraph boy handed him the yellow envelope. He +turned it over and over, studying its exterior, while the boy went to +look at the shop-worn brown bear. The zoo keeper decided that there was +no way to find out what was inside of the envelope but to open it. He +was ready for the worst. He wondered, unthinkingly, which one of his +forty or more cousins was dead, and opened the envelope. + +“Dennis Toole, Franklin Zoo,” he read, “Dongolas won't swim. How do you +make them swim? Telegraph at once. Michael Toole.” + +He laid the telegram across his knees and looked at it as if it was some +strange communication from another sphere. He pushed his hat to one side +of his head and scratched the tuft of red hair thus bared. + +“'Dongolas won't swim!”' he repeated slowly. “An' how do I make thim +swim? I wonder does Cousin Mike take th' goat t' be a fish, or what? +I wonder does he take swimmin' to be wan of th' accomplishments of th' +goat?” He shook his head in puzzlement, and frowned at the telegram. +“Would he be havin' a goat regatta, I wonder, or was he expectin' th' +goat t' be a web-footed animal? 'Won't swim!' he repeated angrily. +'Won't swim!' An' what is it to me if they won't swim? Nayther would +I swim if I was a goat. 'Tis none of me affair if they will not swim. +There was nawthin' said about 'swimmin' goats.' Goats I can give him, +an' dongola goats I can give him, an jumpin' goats, an' climbin' goats, +an' walkin' goats, but 'tis not in me line t'furnish submarine goats. +No, nor goats t' fly up in th' air! Would anny one,” he said with +exasperation, “would anny one that got a plain order for goats ixpict t' +have t' furnish goats that would hop up off th' earth an' make a balloon +ascension? 'Tis no fault of Dennis Toole's thim goats won't swim. What +will Mike be telegraphin' me nixt, I wonder? 'Dear Dennis: Th' goats +won't lay eggs. How do ye make thim?' Bye, have ye a piece of paper t' +write an answer t' me cousin Mike on?” + +The Keeper of the Water Goats and Alderman Toole were sitting on a +rustic bench looking sadly at the water goats when the Jeffersonville +telegraph messenger brought them Dennis Toole's answer. Alderman Toole +grasped the envelope eagerly and tore it open, and Fagan leaned over his +shoulder as he read it: + + +“Michael Toole, Alderman, Jeffersonville,” they read. “Put them in the +water and see if they will swim. Dennis Toole.” + + +“Put thim in th' wather!” exclaimed Alderman Toole angrily. “Why don't +ye put thim in th' wather, Fagan? Why did ye not think t' put thim +in th' wather?” He looked down at his soaking clothes, and his anger +increased. “Why have ye been tryin' t' make thim dongolas swim on land, +Fagan?” he asked sarcastically. “Or have ye been throwin' thim up in th' +air t' see thim swim? Why don't ye put thim in th' wather? Why don't +ye follow th' instructions of th' expert dongola water goat man an' put +thim in th' wather if ye want thim t' swim?” + +Fagan looked at the angry alderman. He looked at the dripping goats. + +“So I did, Mike,” he said seriously. “We both of us did.” + +“An' did we!” cried Alderman Toole in mock surprise. “Is it possible we +thought t' put thim in th' wather whin we wanted thim t' swim? It was in +me mind that we tied thim to a tree an' played ring-around-a-rosy +with thim t' induce thim t' swim! Where's a pencil? Where's a piece of +paper?” he cried. + +He jerked them from the hand of the messenger boy. The afternoon was +half worn away. Every minute was precious. He wrote hastily and handed +the message to the messenger boy. + +“Fagan,” he said, as the boy disappeared down the path at a run, “raise +up yer spirits an come an' give th' water goats some more instructions +in th' ginteel art of swimmin' in th' wather.” + +Fagan sighed and arose. He walked toward the dejected water goats, and, +taking the nearest one by the horns yanked it toward the lake. The goat +was too weak to do more than hold back feebly and bleat its disapproval +of another bath. The more lessons in swimming it received the less it +seemed to like to swim. It had developed a positive hatred of swimming. + +Dennis Toole received the second telegram with a savage grin. He had +expected it. He opened it with malicious slowness. + + +“Dennis Toole, Franklin Zoo,” he read. “Where do you think I put them to +make them swim? They won't swim in the lake. It won't do no good to +us for them to swim on dry land. No fooling, now, how do you make them +dongolas swim? Answer quick. + +“Michael Toole.” + + +He did not have to study out his reply, for he had been considering it +ever since he had sent the other telegram. He took a blank from the +boy and wrote the answer. The sun was setting when the Jeffersonville +messenger delivered it to Alderman Toole. + + +“Mike Toole, Jeffersonville,” it said. “Quit fooling, yourself. Don't +you know young dongolas are always water-shy at first? Tie them in the +lake and let them soak, and they will learn to swim fast enough. If I +didn't know any more about dongolas than you do I would keep clear of +them. Dennis Toole.” + + +“Listen to that now,” said Alderman Toole, a smile spreading over his +face. “An' who ever said I knew annything about water goats, anny how? +Th' natural history of th' water goat is not wan of the things usually +considered part of th' iducation of th' alderman from th' Fourth Ward, +Fagan, but 'tis surprised I am that ye did not know th' goat is like th' +soup bean, an' has t' be soaked before usin'. Th' Keeper of th' Water +Goat should know th' habits of th' animal, Fagan. Why did ye not put +thim in to soak in th' first place? I am surprised at ye!” + +“It escaped me mind,” said Fagan. “I was thinkin' these was broke t' +swimmin' an' did not need t' be soaked. I wonder how long they should be +soaked, Mike?” + +“'Twill do no harrm t' soak thim over night, anny how,” said Toole. +“Over night is th' usual soak given t' th' soup-bean an' th' salt +mackerel, t' say nawthin' of th' codfish an' others of th' water-goat +family. Let th' water goats soak over night, Fagan, an by mornin' they +will be ready t' swim like a trout. We will anchor thim in th' lake, +Fagan--an' we will say nawthin' t' Dugan. 'Twould be a blow t' Dugan +was he t' learn th' dongolas provided fer th' park was young an' +wather-shy.” + +They anchored the water goats firmly in the lake, and left them there to +overcome their shyness, which seemed, as Fagan and Toole left them, to +be as great as ever. The goats gazed sadly, and bleated longingly, after +the two men as they disappeared in the dusk, and when the men had passed +entirely out of sight, the goats looked at each other and complained +bitterly. + +Alderman Toole thoughtfully changed his wet clothes for dry ones before +he went to Casey's that evening, for he thought Dugan might be there, +and he was. He was there when Toole arrived, and his brow was black. +He had had a bad day of it. Everything had gone wrong with him and his +affairs. A large lump of his adherents had sloughed off from his party +and had affiliated with his opponents, and the evening opposition paper +had come out with a red-hot article condemning the administration for +reckless extravagance. It had especially condemned Dugan for burdening +the city with new bonds to create an unneeded park, and the whole thing +had ended with a screech of ironic laughter over the--so the editor +called it--fitting capstone of the whole business, the purchase of two +dongola goats at perfectly extravagant prices. + +“Mike,” said the big mayor severely, when the little alderman had +offered his greetings, “there is the divil an' all t' pay about thim +dongolas. Th' News is full of thim. 'Twill be th' ind of us all if they +do not pan out well. Have ye tried thim in th' water yet?” + +“Sure!” exclaimed the little alderman with a heartiness he did not feel. +“What has me an' Fagan been doin' all day but tryin' thim? Have no fear +of th' wather goats, Dugan.” + +“Do they swim well, Mike?” asked the big mayor kindly, but with a weary +heaviness he did not try to conceal. + +“Swim!” exclaimed Toole. “Did ye say swim, Dugan? Swim is no name for +th' way they rip thro' the wather! 'Twas marvellous t' see thim. Ah, +thim dongolas is wonderful animals! Do ye think we could persuade thim +t' come out whin we wanted t' come home? Not thim, Dugan! 'Twas all me +an' Fagan could do t' pull thim out by main force, an' th' minute we let +go of thim, back they wint into th' wather. 'Twas pitiful t' hear th' +way they bleated t' be let back into th' wather agin, Dugan, so we let +thim stay in for th' night.” + +“Ye did not let thim loose in th' lake, Mike?” exclaimed the big mayor. +“Ye did not let thim be so they could git away?” + +“No,” said Toole. “No! They'll not git away, Dugan. We anchored thim +fast.” + +“Ye done good, Mike,” said the big mayor. + +The next morning Keeper of the Water Goats Fagan was down sufficiently +early to drag the bodies of the goats out of the lake long before even +the first citizen was admitted to the park. Alone, and hastily he hid +them in the little tool house, and locked the door on them. Then he went +to find Alderman Toole. He found him in the mayor's office, and beckoned +him to one side. In hot, quick accents he told him the untimely fate of +the dongola water goats, and the mayor--with an eye for everything on +that important day--saw the red face of Alderman Toole grow longer and +redder; saw the look of pain and horror that overspread it. A chilling +fear gripped his own heart. + +“Mike,” he said. “What's th' matter with th' dongolas?” + +It was Fagan who spoke, while the little alderman from the Fourth Ward +stood bereft of speech in this awful moment. + +“Dugan,” he said, “I have not had much ixperience with th' dongola +wather goat, an' th' ways an' habits of thim is strange t' me, but if I +was t' say what I think, I would say they was over-soaked.” + +“Over-soaked, Fagan?” said the mayor crossly. “Talk sense, will ye?” + +“Sure!” said Fagan. “An' over-soaked is what I say. Thim water goats has +all th' looks of bein' soaked too long. I would not say positive, Yer +Honour, but that is th' looks of thim. If me own mother was t' ask me I +would say th' same, Dugan. 'Soakin' too long done it,' is what I would +say.” + +“You are a fool, Fagan!” exclaimed the big mayor. + +“Well,” said Fagan mildly, “I have not had much ixperience in soakin' +dongolas, if ye mean that, Dugan. I do not set up t' be an expert +dongola soaker. I do not know th' rules t' go by. Some may like thim +soaked long an' some may like thim soaked not so long, but if I was to +say, I would say thim two dongolas at th' park has been soaked a dang +sight too long. Th' swim has been soaked clean out of thim.” + +“Are they sick?” asked the big mayor. “What is th' matter with thim?” + +“They do look sick,” agreed Fagan, breaking the bad news gently. “I +should say they look mighty sick, Dugan. If they looked anny sicker, I +would be afther lookin' for a place t' bury thim in. An' I am lookin' +for th' place now.” + +As the truth dawned on the mind of the big mayor, he lost his firm look +and sank into a chair. This was the last brick pulled from under his +structure of hopes. His head sank upon his breast and for many minutes +he was silent, while his aides stood abashed and ill at ease. At last +he raised his head and stared at Toole, more in sorrow than in +resentfulness. + +“Mike,” he said, “Mike Toole! What in th' worrld made ye soak thim +dongolas?” + +“Dugan,” pleaded Toole, laying his hand on the big mayor's arm. “Dugan, +old man, don't look at me that way. There was nawthin' else t' do but +soak thim dongolas. Many's th' time I have seen me old father soakin' +th' young dongolas t' limber thim up for swimmin'. 'If iver ye have to +do with dongolas, Mike,' he used t' say t' me, 'soak thim well firrst.' +So I soaked thim, an' 'tis none of me fault, nor Fagan's either, that +they soaked full o' wather. First-class dongolas is wather-proof, as +iveryone knows, Dugan, an' how was we t' know thim two was not? How +was me an' Fagan t' know their skins would soak in wather like a pillow +case? Small blame to us, Dugan.” + +The big mayor took his head between his hands and stared moodily at the +floor. + +“Go awn away!” he said after a while. “Ye have done for me an' th' byes, +Toole. Ye have soaked us out of office, wan an' all of us. I want t' be +alone. It is all over with us. Go awn away.” + +Toole and the Keeper of the Water Goats stole silently from the room and +out into the street. Fagan was the first to speak. + +“How was we t' know thim dongolas would soak in wather that way, Toole?” + he said defensively. “How was we t' know they was not th' wather-proof +kind of dongolas?” + +The little alderman from the Fourth Ward walked silently by the Keeper's +side. His head was downcast and his hands were clasped beneath the tails +of his coat. Suddenly he looked Fagan full in the face. + +“'Twas our fault, Fagan,” he said. “'Twas all our fault. If we didn't +know thim dongolas was wather-proof we should have varnished thim before +we put thim in th' lake t' soak. I don't blame you, Fagan, for ye did +not know anny better, but I blame mesilf. For I call t' mind now that +me father always varnished th' dongolas before he soaked thim overnight. +'Take no chances, Mike,' he used t' say t' me, 'always varnish thim +firrst. Some of thim is rubbery an' will not soak up wather, but some is +spongy, an' 'tis best t' varnish one an' all of thim.”' + +“Think of that now!” exclaimed Fagan with admiration. “Sure, but this +natural history is a wonderful science, Toole! To think that thim +animals was th' spongyhided dongola water goats of foreign lands, an' +used t' bein' varnished before each an' every bath! An' t' me they +looked no different from th' goats of me byehood! I was never cut out +for a goat keeper, Mike. An' me job on th' dump-cart is gone, too. +'Twill be hard times for Fagan.” + +“'Twill be hard times for Toole, too,” said the little alderman, and +they walked on without speaking until Fagan reached his gate. + +“Well, anny how,” he said with cheerful philosophy, “'tis better t' +be us than to be thim dongola water goats--dead or alive. 'Tis not +too often I take a bath, Mike, but if I was wan of thim spongy-hided +dongolas an' had t' be varnished each time I got in me bath tub, I would +stop bathin' for good an' all.” + +He looked toward the house. + +“I'll not worry,” he said. “Maggie will be sad t' hear th' job is gone, +but she would have took it harder t' know her Tim was wastin' his time +varnishin' th' slab side of a spongy goat.” + + + + +II. MR. BILLINGS'S POCKETS + + +On the sixteenth of June Mr. Rollin Billings entered his home at +Westcote very much later than usual, and stealing upstairs, like a thief +in the night, he undressed and dropped into bed. In two minutes he was +asleep, and it was no wonder, for by that time it was five minutes after +three in the morning, and Mr. Billings's usual bedtime was ten o'clock. +Even when he was delayed at his office he made it an invariable rule to +catch the nine o'clock train home. + +When Mrs. Billings awoke the next--or, rather, that same--morning, she +gazed a minute at the thin, innocent face of her husband, and was in +the satisfied frame of mind that takes an unexpected train delay as +a legitimate excuse, when she happened to cast her eyes upon Mr. +Billings's coat, which was thrown carelessly over the foot of the bed. +Protruding from one of the side pockets was a patent nursing-bottle, +half full of milk. Instantly Mrs. Billings was out of bed and searching +Mr. Billings's other pockets. To her horror her search was fruitful. + +In a vest pocket she found three false curls, or puffs of hair, such as +ladies are wearing to-day to increase the abundance of their own, and +these curls were of a rich brownish red. Finally, when she dived into +his trousers pocket, she found twelve acorns carefully wrapped in a +lady's handkerchief, with the initials “T. M. C.” embroidered in one +corner. + +All these Mrs. Billings hid carefully in her upper bureau drawer and +proceeded to dress. When at length she awakened Mr. Billings, he yawned, +stretched, and then, realizing that getting-up time had arrived, hopped +briskly out of bed. + +“You got in late last night,” said Mrs. Billings pleasantly. + +If she had expected Mr. Billings to cringe and cower she was mistaken. +He continued to dress, quite in his usual manner, as if he had a clear +conscience. + +“Indeed I did, Mary,” he said. “It was three when I entered the house, +for the clock was just striking.” + +“Something must have delayed you,” suggested Mrs. Billings. + +“Otherwise, dear,” said Mr. Billings, “I should have been home much +sooner. + +“Probably,” said Mrs. Billings, suddenly assuming her most sarcastic +tone, as she reached into her bureau drawer and drew out the patent +nursing-bottle, “this had something to do with your being delayed!” + +Mr. Billings looked at the nursing-bottle, and then he drew out his +watch and looked at that. + +“My dear,” he said, “you are right. It did. But I now have just time +to gulp down my coffee and catch my train. To-night, when I return from +town, I will tell you the most remarkable story of that nursing-bottle, +and how it happened to be in my pocket, and in the mean time I beg +you--I most sincerely beg you--to feel no uneasiness.” + +With this he hurried out of the room, and a few moments later his wife +saw him running for his train. + +All day Mrs. Billings was prey to the most disturbing thoughts, and +as soon as dinner was finished that evening she led the way into the +library. + +“Now, Rollin?” she said, and without hesitation Mr. Billings began. + +I. THE PATENT NURSING-BOTTLE + + +You have (he said), I know, met Lemuel, the coloured elevator boy in our +office building, and you know what a pleasant, accommodating lad he is. +He is the sort of boy for whom one would gladly do a favour, for he is +always so willing to do favours for others, but I was thinking nothing +of this when I stepped from my office at exactly five o'clock yesterday +evening. I was thinking of nothing but getting home to dinner as soon as +possible, and was just stepping into the elevator when Lemuel laid his +hand gently on my arm. + +“I beg yo' pahdon, Mistah Billings,” he said politely, “but would yo' do +me a favour?” + +“Certainly, Lemuel,” I said; “how much can I lend you?” + +“'Tain't that, sah,” he said. “I wish t' have a word or two in private +with yo'. Would yo' mind steppin' back into yo' office until I git these +folks out of th' buildin', so's I can speak to yo'?” + +I knew I had still half an hour before my six-two train, and I was +not unwilling to do Lemuel a favour, so I went back to my office as he +desired, and waited there until he appeared, which was not until he had +taken all the tenants down in his elevator. Then he opened the door and +came in. With him was the young man I had often seen in the office next +to mine, as I passed, and a young woman on whom I had never set my eyes +before. No sooner had they opened the door than the young man began to +speak, and Lemuel stood unobtrusively to one side. + +“Mr. Billings,” said the young man, “you may think it strange that I +should come to you in this way when you and I are hardly acquaintances, +but I have often observed you passing my door, and have noted your +kind-looking face, and the moment I found this trouble upon me I +instantly thought of you as the one man who would be likely to help me +out of my difficulty.” + +While he said this I had time to study his face, and also to glance at +the young woman, and I saw that he must, indeed, be in great trouble. I +also saw that the young woman was pretty and modest and that she, also, +was in great distress. I at once agreed to help him, provided I should +not be made to miss the six-thirty train, for I saw I was already too +late for the six-two. + +“Good!” he cried. “For several years Madge--who is this young lady--and +I have been in love, and we wish to be married this evening, but her +father and my father are waiting at the foot of the elevator at this +minute, and they have been waiting there all day. There is no other way +for us to leave the building, for the foot of the stairs is also the +foot of the elevator, and, in fact, when I last peeped, Madge's father +was sitting on the bottom step. It is now exactly fifteen minutes of +six, and at six o'clock they mean to come up and tear Madge and me away, +and have us married.” + +“To--” I began. + +“To each other,” said the young man with emotion. + +“But I thought that was what you wanted?” I exclaimed. + +“Not at all! Not at all!” said the young man, and the young woman added +her voice in protest, too. “I am the head of the Statistical Department +of the Society for the Obtaining of a Uniform National Divorce Law, and +the work in that department has convinced me beyond a doubt that forced +marriages always end unhappily. In eighty-seven thousand six hundred and +four cases of forced marriages that I have tabulated I have found that +eighty-seven thousand six hundred and three have been unhappy. In the +face of such statistics Madge and I dare not allow ourselves to be +married against our wills. We insist on marrying voluntarily.” + +“That could be easily arranged,” I ventured to say, “in view of the fact +that both your fathers wish you to be married.” + +“Not at all,” said Madge, with more independence than I had thought her +capable of; “because my father and Henry's father are gentlemen of +the old school. I would not say anything against either father, for in +ordinary affairs I they are two most suave and charming old gentlemen, +but in this they hold to the old-school idea that children should allow +their parents to select their life-partners, and they insist that Henry +and I allow ourselves to be forced to marry each other. And that, +in spite of the statistics Henry has shown them. Our whole happiness +depends on our getting out of this building before they can come up and +get us. That is why we appeal to you.” + +“If you still hesitate, after what Madge has said,” said Henry, pulling +a large roll of paper out of his pocket, “here are the statistics.” + +“Very well,” I said, “I will help you, if I can do so and not miss the +six-thirty train. What is your plan?” + +“It is very simple,” said Henry. “Our fathers are both quite +near-sighted, and as six o'clock draws near they will naturally become +greatly excited and nervous, and, therefore, less observant of small +things. I have brought with me some burnt cork with which I will blacken +my face, and I will change clothes with Lemuel, and, in the one moment +necessary to escape, my father will not recognize me. Lemuel, on +the other hand, will whiten his face with some powder that Madge has +brought, and will wear my clothes, and in the excitement my father will +seize him instead of me.” + +“Excellent,” I said, “but what part do I play in this?” + +“This part,” said Henry, “you will wear, over your street clothes, a +gown that Madge has brought in her suit-case and a hat that she has also +brought, both of which her father will easily recognize, while Madge +will redden her face with rouge, muss her hair, don a torn, calico +dress, and with a scrub-rag and a mop in her hands easily pass for a +scrub-woman. + +“And then?” I asked. + +“Then you and Lemuel will steal cautiously down the stairs, as if you +were Madge and I seeking to escape, while Madge and I, as Lemuel and the +scrub-woman, will go down by the elevator. My father and Madge's father +will seize you and Lemuel--” + +“And I shall appear like a fool when they discover I am a respectable +business man rigged up in woman's clothes,” I said. + +“Not at all,” said Madge, “for Henry and I have thought of that. You +must play your part until you see that henry and I have escaped from +the elevator and have left the building, and that is all. I have had the +forethought to prepare an alibi for you. As soon as you see that Henry +and I are safe outside the building, you must become very indignant, and +insist that you are a respectable married woman, and in proof you +must hand my father the contents of this package. He will be convinced +immediately and let you go, and then Lemuel can run you up to your +office and you can take off my dress and hat and catch the six-thirty +train without trouble.” She then handed me a small parcel, which I +slipped into my coat pocket. + +When this had been agreed upon she and Henry left the office and I took +the hat and dress from the suit-case and put them on, while Lemuel put +on Henry's suit and whitened his face. This took but a few minutes, and +we went into the hall and found Henry and Madge already waiting for us. +Henry was blackened into a good likeness of Lemuel, and Madge was quite +a mussy scrub-woman. They immediately entered the elevator and began to +descend slowly, while Lemuel and I crept down the stairs. + +Lemuel and I kept as nearly as possible opposite the elevator, so that +we might arrive at the foot of the stairs but a moment before Madge and +Henry, and we could hear the two fathers shuffling on the street floor, +when suddenly, as we reached the third floor, we heard a whisper from +Henry in the elevator. The elevator had stuck fast between the third and +fourth floors. As with one mind, Lemuel and I seated ourselves on a step +and waited until Henry should get the elevator running again and could +proceed to the street floor. + +For a while we could hear no noise but the grating of metal on metal as +Henry worked with the starting lever of the elevator, and then we heard +the two voices of the fathers. + +“It is a ruse,” said one father. “They are pretending the elevator is +stuck, and when we grow impatient and start up the stairs they will come +down with a rush and escape us.” + +“But we are not so silly as that,” said the other father. “We will stay +right here and wait until they come down.” + +At that Lemuel and I settled ourselves more comfortably, for there was +nothing else to do. I cursed inwardly as I felt the minutes slip by and +knew that half-past six had come and gone, but I was sure you would not +like to have me desert those two poor lovers who were fighting to ward +off the statistics, so I sat still and silent. So did Lemuel. + +I do not know how long I sat there, for it was already dark in the +narrow stairway, but it must have been a long time. I drowsed off, and +I was finally awakened by Lemuel tugging at my sleeve, and I knew that +Henry had managed to start the elevator again. Lemuel and I hastened our +steps, and just as the elevator was coming into sight below the second +floor we were seen by the two fathers. For an instant they hesitated, +and then they seized us. At the same time the elevator door opened and +Henry and Madge came out, and the two fathers hardly glanced at them as +they went out of the door into the street. + +As soon as I saw that they were safe I feigned great indignation, and so +did Lemuel. + +“Unhand me, sir!” I cried. “Who do you think I am? I am a respectable +married lady, leaving the building with her husband. Unhand me!” + +Instead of doing so, however, the father that had me by the arm drew me +nearer to the hall light. As he did so he stared closely at my face. + +“Morgan,” he said to the other father, “this is not my daughter. My +daughter did not have a moustache.” + +“Indeed, I am not your daughter,” I said; “I am a respectable married +lady, and here is the proof.” + +With that I reached for the package Madge had given me, but it was in my +coat-pocket, underneath the dress I had on, and it was only with great +difficulty and by raising one side of the skirt that I was able to get +it. I unwrapped it and showed it to the father that had me by the arm. +It was the patent nursing-bottle. + +When Mr. Billings had finished his relation his wife sat for a moment in +silence. Then she said: + +“And he let you go?” + +“Yes, of course,” said Mr. Billings; “he could not hold me after such +proof as that, and Lemuel ran me up to my office, where I changed my +hat and took off the dress. I knew it was late, and I did not know +what train I could catch, but I made haste, and, on the way down in the +elevator, I felt in my pocket to see if I had my commutation ticket, +when my hand struck the patent nursing-bottle. My first impulse was to +drop it in the car, but on second thought I decided to keep it, for +I knew that when you saw it and heard the story you would understand +perfectly why I was detained last night.” + +“Yes?” said Mrs. Billings questioningly. “But, my dear, all that does +not account for these.” + +As she said that she drew from her workbasket the three auburn-red +curls. + +“Oh, those!” said Mr. Billings, after a momentary hesitation. “I was +about to tell you about those.” + +“Do so!” said Mrs. Billings coldly. “I am listening.” + +II. THE THREE AUBURN-RED CURLS + + +When I went down in the elevator (said Mr. Billings) with the +nursing-bottle in my pocket, I had no thought but to get to the train +as soon as possible, for I saw by the clock in my office that I had just +time to catch the eleven-nine if I should not be delayed. Therefore, as +soon as I was outside the building I started to run, but when I reached +the corner and was just about to step on a passing street-car a hand was +laid on my arm, and I turned to see who was seeking to detain me. It was +a woman in the most pitiable rags, and on her arm she carried a baby so +thin and pale that I could scarcely believe it lived. + +One glance at the child showed me that it was on the verge of death +by starvation, and this was confirmed by the moans of the mother, who +begged me for humanity's sake to give her money with which to provide +food for the child, even though I let her, herself, starve. You know, +my dear, you never allow me to give money to street beggars, and +I remembered this, but at the same time I remembered the patent +nursing-bottle I still carried in my pocket. + +Without hesitation I drew the patent nursing-bottle from my pocket and +told the mother to allow the infant to have a sufficient quantity of +milk it contained to sustain the child's life until she could procure +other alms or other aid. With a cry of joy the mother took the +nursing-bottle and pressed it to the poor baby's lips, and it was with +great pleasure I saw the rosy colour return to the child's cheeks. The +sadness of despair that had shadowed the mother's face also fled, and +I could see that already she was looking on life with a more optimistic +view. + +I verily believe the child could have absorbed the entire contents of +the bottle, but I had impressed upon the mother that she was to give the +child only sufficient to sustain life, not to suffice it until it was +grown to manhood or womanhood, and when the bottle was half-emptied the +mother returned it to me. How much time all this occupied I do not know, +but the child took the milk with extreme slowness. I may say that it +took the milk drop by drop. A great deal of time must have elapsed. + +But when the mother had returned the patent nursing-bottle to me and saw +how impatient I was to be gone, she still retained her hold upon my arm. + +“Sir,” she said, “you have undoubtedly saved the life of my child, and +I only regret that I cannot repay you for all it means to me. But I +cannot. Stay!” she cried, when I was about to pull my arm away. “Has +your wife auburn-red hair?” + +“No,” I said, “she has not, her hair is a most beautiful black.” + +“No matter,” said the poor woman, putting her hand to her head. “Some +day she may wish to change the colour of her hair to auburn-red, which +is easily done with a little bleach and a little dye, and should she do +so these may come handy;” and with that she slipped something soft and +fluffy into my hand and fled into the night. When I looked, I saw in my +hand the very curls you hold there. My first impulse was to drop them in +the street, but I remembered that the poor woman had not given them to +me, but to you, and that it was my duty to bring them home to you, so I +slipped them into my pocket. + + +When Mr. Billings had ended this recital of what had happened to him his +wife said: + +“Huh!” + +At the same time she tossed the curls into the grate, where they +shrivelled up, burst into blue smoke, and shortly disappeared in ashes. + +“That is a very likely story,” she said, “but it does not explain how +this came to be in your pocket.” + + +Saying this she drew from her basket the handkerchief and handed it to +Mr. Billings. + +“Hah!” he exclaimed. For a moment he turned the rolled-up handkerchief +over and over, and then he cautiously opened it. At the sight of the +twelve acorns he seemed somewhat surprised, and when the initials “T. M. +C.” on the corner of the handkerchief caught his eye he blushed. + +“You are blushing--you are disturbed,” said Mrs. Billings severely. + +“I am,” said Mr. Billings, suddenly recovering himself; “and no wonder.” + +“And no wonder, indeed!” said Mrs Billings. “Perhaps, then, you can tell +me how those acorns and that handkerchief came to be in your pocket.” + +“I can,” said Mr. Billings, “and I will.” + +“You had better,” said Mrs. Billings. + +III. THE TWELVE ACORNS AND THE LADY'S HANDKERCHIEF + + +You may have noticed, my dear (said Mr. Billings), that the initials on +that handkerchief are “T. M. C.,” and I wish you to keep that in mind, +for it has a great deal to do with this story. Had they been anything +else that handkerchief would not have found its way into my pocket; and +when you see how those acorns and that handkerchief, and the half-filled +nursing-bottle and the auburn-red curls all combined to keep me out of +my home until the unearthly hour of three A. M., you will forget the +unjust suspicions which I too sadly fear you now hold against me, and +you will admit that a half-filled patent nursing-bottle, a trio of +curls, a lady's handkerchief and twelve acorns were the most natural +things in the world to find in my pockets. + +When I had left the poor woman with her no-longer-starving baby I +hurriedly glanced into a store window, and by the clock there saw it +was twenty minutes of one and that I had exactly time to catch the one +o'clock train, which is the last train that runs to Westcote. I glanced +up and down the street, but not a car was in sight, and I knew I could +not afford to wait long if I wished to catch that train. There was but +one thing to do, and that was to take a cab, and, as luck would have +it, at that moment an automobile cab came rapidly around the corner. I +raised my voice and my arm, and the driver saw or heard me, for he made +a quick turn in the street and drew up at the curb beside me. I hastily +gave him the directions, jumped in and slammed the door shut, and the +auto-cab immediately started forward at what seemed to me unsafe speed. + +We had not gone far when something in the fore part of the automobile +began to thump in a most alarming manner, and the driver slackened his +speed, drew up to the curb and stopped. He opened the door and put his +head in. + +“Something's gone wrong,” he said, “but don't you worry. I'll have it +fixed in no time, and then I can put on more speed and I'll get you +there in just the same time as if nothing had happened.” + +When he said this I was perfectly satisfied, for he was a nice-looking +man, and I lay back, for I was quite tired out, it was so long past my +usual bedtime; and the driver went to work, doing things I could not +understand to the fore part of the automobile, where the machinery is. +I remember thinking that the cushions of this automobile were unusually +soft, and then I must have dozed off, and when I opened my eyes I did +not know how much time had elapsed, but the driver was still at work +and I could hear him swearing. He seemed to be having a great deal of +trouble, so I got out of the automobile, intending to tell him that +perhaps I had better try to get a car, after all. But his actions when +he saw me were most unexpected. He waved the wrench he held in his hand, +and ordered me to get back into the automobile, and I did. I supposed +he was afraid he would lose his fare and tip, but in a few minutes he +opened the door again and spoke to me. + +“Now, sport,” he said, “there ain't no use thinkin' about gettin' that +train, because it's gone, and I may as well say now that you've got to +come with me, unless you want me to smash your head in. The fact is, +this ain't no public automobile, and I hadn't no right to take you for +a passenger. This automobile belongs to a lady and I'm her hired +chauffeur, and she's at a bridge-whist party in a house on Fifth Avenue, +and I'm supposed to be waiting outside that house. One-fifteen o'clock +was the time she said she would be out. But I thought maybe I might make +a dollar or two for myself instead of waiting there all that time, and +she would never know it. And now it is nearly two o'clock, and if I +go back alone she will be raving mad, and I'll get my discharge and no +references, and my poor wife and six children will have to starve. So +you will have to go with me and explain how it was that I wasn't there +at one-fifteen o'clock.” + +“My friend,” I said, “I am sorry for you, but I do not see how it would +help you, should I refuse to go and you should, as you say, smash my +head in.” + +“Don't you worry none about that,” he said. “If I smashed your head in, +as I could do easy enough with this wrench, I'd take what was left of +you up some dark street, and lay you on the pavement and run the machine +across you once or twice, and then take you to a hospital, and that +would be excuse enough. You'd be another 'Killed by an Automobile,' and +I'd be the hero that picked you up and took you to the hospital.” + +“Well,” I said, “under the circumstances I shall go with you, not +because you threaten me, but because your poor wife and six children are +threatened with starvation.” + +“Good!” he said. “And now all you have to do is to think of what the +excuse you will give my lady boss will be.” + +With that he lay back against the cushions and waited. He seemed to feel +that the matter did not concern him any more, and that the rest of it +lay with me. + +“Go ahead!” I said to him. “I have no idea what I shall tell your +mistress, but since I have lost the last train I must try to catch the +two o'clock trolley car to Westeote, and I do not wish to spend any more +time than necessary on this business. Make all the haste possible, and +as we go I shall think what I will say when we get there.” + +The driver got out and took his seat and started the car. I was worried, +indeed, my dear. I tried to think of something plausible to tell the +young man's employer; something that would have an air of self-proof, +when suddenly I remembered the half-filled nursing-bottle and the three +auburn-red curls. Why should I not tell the lady that a poor mother, +while proceeding down Fifth Avenue from her scrub-woman job, had been +taken suddenly ill, and that I, being near, had insisted that this +automobile help me convey the woman to her home, which we found, alas! +to be in the farthest districts of Brooklyn? Then I would produce the +three auburn-red curls and the half-filled nursing-bottle as having been +left in the automobile by the woman, and this proof would suffice. + +I had fully decided on this when the automobile stopped in front of a +large house in Fifth Avenue, and I had time to tell the driver that +I had thought of the proper thing to say, but that was all, for the +waiting lady came down the steps in great anger, and was about to begin +a good scolding, when she noticed me sitting in her automobile. + +If she had been angry before she was now furious, and she was the kind +of young woman who can be extremely furious when she tries. I think +nothing in the world could have calmed her had she not caught sight of +my face by the light of two strong lamps on a passing automobile. She +saw in my face what you see there now, my dear--the benevolent, fatherly +face of a settled-down, trustworthy, married man of past middle age--and +as if by magic her anger fled and she burst into tears. + +“Oh, sir!” she cried, “I do not know who you are, nor how you happen +to be in my car, but at this moment I am homeless and friendless. I am +alone in the world, and I need advice. Let me get into the car beside +you--” + +“Miss,” I said, “I do not like to disoblige you, but I can never allow +myself to be in an automobile at this time of night with a strange +woman, unchaperoned.” + +These words seemed almost more than she could bear, and my heart was +full of pity, but, just as I was about to spring from the automobile and +rush away, I saw on the walk the poor woman to whose baby I had given +the half of the contents of the patent nursing-bottle. I called her and +made her get into the automobile, and then I let the young woman enter. + +“Now,” I said, “where to?” + +“That,” she said, “is what I do not know. When I left my home this +evening I left it forever, and I left a note of farewell to my father, +which he must have received and read by this time, and if I went back he +would turn me from the door in anger, for he is a gentleman of the old +school.” + +When I heard these words I was startled. “Can it be,” I asked, “that you +have a brother henry?” + +“I have,” she admitted; “Henry Corwin is his name.” This was the name of +the young man I had helped that very evening to marry Madge. I told her +to proceed. + +“My father,” she said, “has been insisting that I marry a man I do not +love, and things have come to such a point that I must either accede or +take things into my own hands. I agreed to elope this evening with the +man I love, for he had long wished me to elope with him. I was to meet +him outside his house at exactly one-fifteen o'clock, and I told him +that if I was not there promptly he might know I had changed my mind. +When the time came for me to hasten to him in my automobile, which was +then to hurry us to a waiting minister, my automobile was not here. +Unfortunately I did not know my lover's address, for I had left it in +the card pocket in this automobile. I knew not what to do. As the time +passed and my automobile did not appear I knew that my lover had decided +that I was not coming, and had gone away into his house. Now I cannot go +home, for I have no home. I cannot so lower my pride as to ring the bell +of his house and say I wish to be forgiven and married even yet. What +shall I do?” + +For answer I felt in the card pocket of the automobile and drew out the +address of her lover, and without hesitation I gave the address to the +chauffeur. In a few minutes we were there. Leaving the young woman in +the car with the poor woman, I got out and surveyed the house. It was +unpromising. Evidently all the family but the young man were away for +the summer, and the doors and windows were all boarded up. There was not +a bell to ring. I pounded on the boards that covered the door, but it +was unavailing. The young woman called to me that the young man lived +in the front room of the topmost floor, and could not hear me, and I +glanced up and saw that one window alone of all those in the house was +not boarded up. Instantly I hopped upon the seat beside the driver and +said, “Central Park.” + +We dashed up Fifth Avenue and into the Park at full speed, and when we +were what I considered far enough in I ordered him to stop, and hurrying +up a low bank I began to grope among the leaves of last year under +the trees. I was right. In a few minutes I had filled my pockets with +acorns, was back in the car, and we were hurrying toward the house +of the lover, when I saw standing on a corner a figure I instantly +recognized as Lemuel, the elevator boy, and at the same time I +remembered that Lemuel spent his holidays pitching for a ball nine, He +was just the man I needed, and I stopped and made him get into the car. +In a minute more we were before the house again, and I handed Lemuel +a fistful of acorns. He drew back and threw them with all his strength +toward the upper window. + +My dear, will you believe it? Those acorns were wormy! They were light. +They would not carry to the window, but scattered like bits of chips +when they had travelled but half-way. I was upset, but Lemuel was not. +He ordered the chauffeur to drive to lower Sixth Avenue with all speed, +in order that he might get a baseball. With this he said he could +hit any mark, and we had started in that direction when, passing a +restaurant on Broadway, I saw emerge Henry and Madge. + +“Better far,” I said to myself, “put this young woman in charge of her +brother and his new wife than leave her to elope alone,” and I made the +chauffeur draw up beside them. Hastily I explained the situation, and +where we were going at that moment, and Henry and Madge laughed in +unison. + +“Madge,” said Henry, “we had no trouble making wormy acorns travel +through the air, had we?” And both laughed again. At this I made them +get into the automobile, and while we returned to the lover's house +I made them explain. It was very simple, and I had just tied a dozen +acorns tightly in my handkerchief, making a ball to throw at the window, +when the poor woman with the baby noticed that the window was partly +open. I asked Lemuel if he could throw straight enough to throw the +handkerchief-ball into the window, and he said he could, and took +the handkerchief, but a brighter idea came to me, and I turned to the +eloping young lady. + +“Let me have your handkerchief, if it has your initials on it,” I said; +“for when he sees that fall into his room he will know you are here. He +will not think you are forward, coming to him alone, for he will know +you could never have thrown the handkerchief, even if loaded with +acorns, to such a height. It will be your message to him.” + +At this, which I do pride myself was a suggestion worthy of myself, +all were delighted, and while I modestly tied twelve acorns in the +handkerchief on which were the initials “T. M. C.,” all the others +cheered. Even the woman from whom I had received the three auburn-red +curls cheered, and the baby that was half-filled out of the patent +nursing-bottle crowed with joy. But the chauffeur honked his honker. +Lemuel took the handkerchief full of acorns in his hand and drew back +his famous left arm, when suddenly Theodora Mitchell Corwin--for that +was the eloping young lady's name--shrieked, and looking up we saw her +lover at the window. He gave an answering yell and disappeared, and +Lemuel let his left arm fall and handed me the handkerchief-ball. + +In the excitement I dropped it into my pocket, and it was not until I +was on the car for Westcote that I discovered it, and then, not wishing +to be any later in getting home, I did not go back to give it to +Theodora Mitchell Corwin; in fact, I did not know where she had eloped +to. Nor could I give it to Madge or Henry, for they had gone on their +wedding journey as soon as they saw Theodora and her lover safely +eloped. + +I had no right to give it to the poor woman with the baby, even if +she had not immediately disappeared into her world of poverty, and it +certainly did not belong to Lemuel, nor could I have given it to him, +for he took the ten dollars the lover gave him and stayed out so late +that he was late to work this morning and was discharged. He said he was +going back to Texas. So I brought the handkerchief and the twelve acorns +home, knowing you would be interested in hearing their story. + +When Mr. Billings had thus finished his relation of the happenings of +his long evening, Mrs. Billings was thoughtful for a minute. Then she +said: + +“But Rollin, when I spoke to you of the handkerchief and the twelve +acorns you blushed, and said you had reason to blush. I see nothing in +this kind action you did to cause a blush.” + +“I blushed,” said Mr. Billings, “to think of the lie I was going to tell +Theodora Merrill Corwin--” + +“I thought you said her name was Theodora Mitchell Corwin,” said Mrs. +Billings. + +“Mitchell or Merill,” said Mr. Billings. “I cannot remember exactly +which.” + +For several minutes Mrs. Billings was silent. Occasionally she would +open her mouth as if to ask a question, but each time she closed it +again without speaking. Mr. Billings sat regarding his wife with what, +in a man of less clear conscience, might be called anxiety. At length +Mrs. Billings put her sewing into her sewing-basket and arose. + +“Rollin,” she said, “I have enjoyed hearing you tell your experiences +greatly. I can say but one thing: Never in your life have you deceived +me. And you have not deceived me now.” + +For half an hour after this Mr. Billings sat alone, thinking. + + + + +III. OUR FIRST BURGLAR + + +When our new suburban house was completed I took Sarah out to see it, +and she liked it all but the stairs. + +“Edgar,” she said, when she had ascended to the second floor, “I don't +know whether it is imagination or not, but it seems to me that these +stairs are funny, some way. I can't understand it. They are not a long +flight, and they are not unusually steep, but they seem to be unusually +wearying. I never knew a short flight to tire me so, and I have climbed +many flights in the six years we have lived in flats.” + +“Perhaps, Sarah,” I said, with mild dissimulation, “you are unusually +tired to-day.” + +The fact was that I had planned those stairs myself, and for a +particular reason I had made the rise of each step three inches more +than the customary height, and in this way I had saved two steps. I had +also made the tread of the steps unusually narrow; and the reason was +that I had found, from long experience, that stair carpet wears first on +the tread of the steps, where the foot falls. By making the steps tall +enough to save two, and by making the tread narrow, I reduced the wear +on the carpet to a minimum. I believe in economy where it is possible. +For the same reason I had the stair banisters made wide, with a +saddle-like top to the newel post, to tempt my son and daughter to slide +downstairs. The less they used the stairs the longer the carpet would +last. + +I need hardly say that Sarah has a fear of burglars; most women have. As +for myself, I prefer not to meet a burglar. It is all very well to get +up in the night and prowl about with a pistol in one hand, seeking to +eliminate the life of a burglar, and some men may like it; but I am of +a very excitable nature, and I am sure that if I did find a burglar and +succeeded in shooting him, I should be in such an excited state that +I could not sleep again that night--and no man can afford to lose his +night's rest. + +There are other objections to shooting a burglar in the house, and these +objections apply with double force when the house and its furnishings +are entirely new. Although some of the rugs in our house were red, not +all of them were; and I had no guarantee that if I shot a burglar +he would lie down on a red rug to bleed to death. A burglar does not +consider one's feelings, and would be quite as apt to bleed on a green +rug, and spoil it, as not. Until burglarizing is properly regulated and +burglars are educated, as they should be, in technical burglary schools, +we cannot hope that a shot burglar will staunch his wound until he can +find a red rug to lie down on. + +And there are still other objections to shooting a burglar. If all +burglars were fat, one of these would be removed; but perhaps a thin +burglar might get in front of my revolver, and in that case the bullet +would be likely to go right through him and continue on its way, and +perhaps break a mirror or a cut-glass dish. I am a thin man myself, and +if a burglar shot at me he might damage things in the same way. + +I thought all these things over when we decided to build in the suburbs, +for Sarah is very nervous about burglars, and makes me get up at the +slightest noise and go poking about. Only the fact that no burglar had +ever entered our flat at night had prevented what might have been a +serious accident to a burglar, for I made it a rule, when Sarah wakened +me on such occasions, to waste no time, but to go through the rooms as +hastily as possible and get back to bed; and at the speed I travelled I +might have bumped into a burglar in the dark and knocked him over, and +his head might have struck some hard object, causing concussion of the +brain; and as a burglar has a small brain a small amount of concussion +might have ruined it entirely. But as I am a slight man it might have +been my brain that got concussed. A father of a family has to think of +these things. + +The nervousness of Sarah regarding burglars had led me in this way to +study the subject carefully, and my adoption of jet-black pajamas as +nightwear was not due to cowardice on my part. I properly reasoned that +if a burglar tried to shoot me while I was rushing around the house +after him in the darkness, a suit of black pajamas would somewhat spoil +his aim, and, not being able to see me, he would not shoot at all. +In this way I should save Sarah the nerve shock that would follow the +explosion of a pistol in the house. For Sarah was very much more afraid +of pistols than of burglars. I am sure there were only two reasons why +I had never killed a burglar with a pistol: one was that no burglar had +ever entered our flat, and the other was that I never had a pistol. + +But I knew that one is much less protected in a suburb than in town, +and when I decided to build I studied the burglar protection matter most +carefully. I said nothing to Sarah about it, for fear it would upset her +nerves, but for months I considered every method that seemed to have +any merit, and that would avoid getting a burglar's blood--or +mine--spattered around on our new furnishings. I desired some method by +which I could finish up a burglar properly without having to leave my +bed, for although Sarah is brave enough in sending me out of bed to +catch a burglar, I knew she must suffer severe nerve strain during the +time I was wandering about in the dark. Her objection to explosives had +also to be considered, and I really had to exercise my brain more than +common before I hit upon what I may now consider the only perfect method +of handling burglars. + +Several things coincided to suggest my method. One of these was Sarah's +foolish notion that our silver must, every night, be brought from +the dining-room and deposited under our bed. This I considered a most +foolhardy tempting of fate. It coaxed any burglar who ordinarily would +have quietly taken the silver from the dining-room and have then gone +away peacefully, to enter our room. The knowledge that I lay in bed +ready at any time to spring out upon him would make him prepare his +revolver, and his nervousness might make him shoot me, which would quite +upset Sarah's nerves. I told Sarah so, but she had a hereditary instinct +for bringing the silver to the bedroom, and insisted. I saw that in +the suburban house this, would be continued as “bringing the silver +upstairs,” and a trial of my carpet-saving stairs suggested to me my +burglar-defeating plan. I had the apparatus built into the house, and I +had the house planned to agree with the apparatus. + +For several months after we moved into the house I had no burglars, but +I felt no fear of them in any event. I was prepared for them. + +In order not to make Sarah nervous, I explained to her that my invention +of a silver-elevator was merely a time-saving device. From the top of +the dining-room sideboard I ran upright tracks through the ceiling to +the back of the hall above, and in these I placed a glass case, which +could be run up and down the tracks like a dumbwaiter. All our servant +had to do when she had washed the silver was to put it in the glass +case, and I had attached to the top of the case a stout steel cable +which ran to the ceiling of the hall above, over a pulley, and so to our +bedroom, which was at the front of the hall upstairs. By this means I +could, when I was in bed, pull the cable, and the glass case of silver +would rise to the second floor. Our bedroom door opened upon the hall, +and from the bed I could see the glass case; but in order that I might +be sure that the silver was there I put a small electric light in +the case and kept it burning all night. Sarah was delighted with this +arrangement, for in the morning all I had to do was to pay out the steel +cable and the silver would descend to the dining-room, and the maid +could have the table all set by the time breakfast was ready. Not once +did Sarah have a suspicion that all this was not merely a household +economy, but my burglar trap. + +On the sixth of August, at two o'clock in the morning, Sarah awakened +me, and I immediately sat straight up in bed. There was an undoubtable +noise of sawing, and I knew at once that a burglar was entering our +home. Sarah was trembling, and I knew she was getting nervous, but I +ordered her to remain calm. + +“Sarah,” I said, in a whisper, “be calm! There is not the least danger. +I have been expecting this for some time, and I only hope the burglar +has no dependent family or poor old mother to support. Whatever happens, +be calm and keep perfectly quiet.” + +With that I released the steel cable from the head of my bed and let the +glass case full of silver slide noiselessly to the sideboard. + +“Edgar!” whispered Sarah in agonized tones, “are you giving him our +silver?” + +“Sarah!” I whispered sternly, “remember what I have just said. Be calm +and keep perfectly quiet.” And I would say no more. + +In a very short time I heard the window below us open softly, and I +knew the burglar was entering the parlour from the side porch. I counted +twenty, which I had figured would be the time required for him to reach +the dining-room, and then, when I was sure he must have seen the silver +shining in the glass case, I slowly pulled on the steel cable and raised +case and silver to the hall above. Sarah began to whisper to me, but I +silenced her. + +What I had expected happened. The burglar, seeing the silver rise +through the ceiling, left the dining-room and went into the hall. There, +from the foot of the stairs, he could see the case glowing in the hall +above, and without hesitation he mounted the stairs. As he reached the +top I had a good view of him, for he was silhouetted against the light +that glowed from the silver case. He was a most brutal looking fellow +of the prize-fighting type, but I almost laughed aloud when I saw his +build. He was short and chunky. As he stepped forward to grasp the +silver case, I let the steel cable run through my fingers, and the case +and its precious contents slid noiselessly down to the dining-room. For +only one instant the burglar seemed disconcerted, then he turned and ran +downstairs again. + +This time I did not wait so long to draw up the silver. I hardly gave +him time to reach the dining-room door before I jerked the cable, and +the case was glowing in the upper hall. The burglar immediately stopped, +turned, and mounted the stairs, but just as he reached the top I let the +silver slide down again, and he had to turn and descend. Hardly had he +reached the bottom step before I had the silver once more in the upper +hall. + +The burglar was a gritty fellow and was not to be so easily defeated. +With some word which I could not catch, but which I have no doubt was +profane, or at least vulgar, he dashed up the stairs, and just as his +hand touched the case I let the silver drop to the dining-room. I smiled +as I saw his next move. He carefully removed his coat and vest, rolled +up his sleeves, and took off his collar. This evidently meant that he +intended to get the silver if it took the whole night, and nothing could +have pleased me more. I lay in my comfortable bed fairly shaking with +suppressed laughter, and had to stuff a corner of a pillow in my mouth +to smother the sound of my mirth. I did not allow the least pity for the +unfortunate fellow to weaken my nerve. + +A low, long screech from the hall told me that I had a man of uncommon +brain to contend with, for I knew the sound came from his hands drawing +along the banister, and that to husband his strength and to save time, +he was sliding down. But this did not disconcert me. It pleased me. The +quicker he went down, the oftener he would have to walk up. + +For half an hour I played with him, giving him just time to get down +to the foot of the stairs before I raised the silver, and just time +to reach the top before I lowered it, and then I grew tired of the +sport--for it was nothing else to me--and decided to finish him off. I +was getting sleepy, but it was evident that the burglar was not, and +I was a little afraid I might fall asleep and thus defeat myself. The +burglar had that advantage because he was used to night work. So I +quickened my movements a little. When the burglar slid down I gave +him just time to see the silver rise through the ceiling, and when he +climbed the stairs I only allowed him to see it descend through the +floor. In this way I made him double his pace, and as I quickened my +movements I soon had him dashing up the stairs and sliding down again +as if for a wager. I did not give him a moment for rest, and he was soon +panting terribly and beginning to stumble; but with almost superhuman +nerve he kept up the chase. He was an unusually tough burglar. + +But quick as he was I was always quicker, and a glimpse of the glowing +case was all I let him have at either end of his climb or slide. No +sooner was he down than it was up, and no sooner was the case up than +he was up after it. In this way I kept increasing his speed until it was +something terrific, and the whole house shook, like an automobile with +a very powerful motor. But still his speed increased. I saw then that +I had brought him to the place I had prepared for, where he had but one +object in life, and that was to beat the case up or down stairs; and as +I was now so sleepy I could hardly keep my eyes open, I did what I had +intended to do from the first. I lowered the case until it was exactly +between the ceiling of the dining-room and the floor of the hall +above--and turned out the electric light. I then tied the steel cable +securely to the head of my bed, turned over, and went to sleep, lulled +by the shaking of the house as the burglar dashed up and down the +stairs. + +Just how long this continued I do not know, for my sleep was deep and +dreamless, but I should judge that the burglar ran himself to death +sometime between half-past three and a quarter after four. So great had +been his efforts that when I went to remove him I did not recognize him +at all. When I had seen him last in the glow of the glass silver case +he had been a stout, chunky fellow, and now his remains were those of +an emaciated man. He must have run off one hundred and twenty pounds of +flesh before he gave out. + +Only one thing clouded my triumph. Our silver consisted of but half a +dozen each of knives, forks, and spoons, a butter knife, and a sugar +spoon, all plated, and worth probably five dollars, and to save this +I had made the burglar wear to rags a Wilton stair carpet worth +twenty-nine dollars. But I have now corrected this. I have bought fifty +dollars worth of silver. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Water Goats and Other Troubles, by +Ellis Parker Butler + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE WATER GOATS AND OTHER TROUBLES *** + +***** This file should be named 1285-0.txt or 1285-0.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/1/2/8/1285/ + +Produced by An Anonymous Volunteer + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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