I have at home, artlessly prattling to the pale-cheeked burglar’s bride. As I was saying, your father opens the front door just as I am departing with admonitions and sandwiches that you have wrapped up for me. Upon recognizing me as an old Harvard classmate he starts back in———”
“Not in surprise?” interrupted Tommy, with wide-open eyes.
“He starts back in the doorway,” continued the burglar. And then he rose to his feet and began to shout: “Rah, rah, rah! rah, rah, rah! rah, rah, rah!”
“Well,” said Tommy, wonderingly, “that’s the first time I ever knew a burglar to give a college yell when he was burglarizing a house, even in a story.”
“That’s one on you,” said the burglar, with a laugh. “I was practising the dramatization. If this is put on the stage that college touch is about the only thing that will make it go.”
Tommy looked his admiration.
“You’re on, all right,” he said.
“And there’s another mistake you’ve made,” said the burglar. “You should have gone some time ago and brought me the $9 gold piece your mother gave you on your birthday to take to Bessie.”
“But she didn’t give it to me to take to Bessie,” said Tommy, pouting.
“Come, come!” said the burglar, sternly. “It’s not nice of you to take advantage because the story contains an ambiguous sentence. You know what I mean. It’s
