bottle of wine with you for Bessie and her mother,” said Tommy, calmly.
“But confound it,” exclaimed the burglar, in an annoyed tone, “they don’t want it. I’ve got five cases of Château de Beychsvelle at home that was bottled in 1853. That claret of yours is corked. And you couldn’t get either of them to look at a chicken unless it was stewed in champagne. You know, after I get out of the story I don’t have so many limitations. I make a turn now and then.”
“Yes, but you must take them,” said Tommy, loading his arms with the bundles.
“Bless you, young master!” recited the burglar, obedient. “Second-Story Saul will never forget you. And now hurry and let me out, kid. Our 2,000 words must be nearly up.”
Tommy led the way through the hall toward the front door. Suddenly the burglar stopped and called to him softly: “Ain’t there a cop out there in front somewhere sparking the girl?”
“Yes,” said Tommy, “but what———”
“I’m afraid he’ll catch me,” said the burglar. “You mustn’t forget that this is fiction.”
“Great head!” said Tommy, turning. “Come out by the back door.”
