Swede! It was a raw deal, boss. He was just hopin' to put me in bad wit' you. Dat's bow it was, boss. Honest!"
The big man listened to this sad story of Grecian gifts in silence. Not so the bull-dog, which growled from start to finish.
Spike eyed it uneasily.
"Won't you call off de dawg, boss?" he said.
The other stooped, and grasped the animal's collar, jerking him away.
"The same treatment," suggested Jimmy with approval, "would also do a world of good to this playful and affectionate animal—unless he is a vegetarian. In which case, don't bother."
The big man glowered at him.
"Who are you?" he demanded.
"My name," began Jimmy, "is—"
"Say," said Spike, "he's a champion burglar, boss—"
The householder shut the door.
"Eh?" he said.
"He's a champion burglar from de odder side. He sure is. From Lunnon. Gee, he's de guy! Tell him about de bank you opened, an' de jools you swiped from de duchess, an' de what-d'ye-call-it blowpipe."
It seemed to Jimmy that Spike was showing a certain want of tact. When you are discovered by a householder—with revolver—in his parlor at half-past three in the morning, it is surely an injudicious
