The Intrusion of Jimmy Part 8

The rapturous intake of Spike's breath was the only sound that broke the silence. Through the smoke, his eyes could be seen slowly widening.

"But about this villa," said Jimmy. "I am always interested even in the humblest sides of the profession. Now, tell me, supposing you were going to break into a villa, what time of night would you do it?"

"I always t'inks it's best either late like dis or when de folks is in at supper," said Spike, respectfully.

Jimmy smiled a faint, patronizing smile, and nodded.

"Well, and what would you do?"

"I'd rubber around some to see isn't dere a window open somewheres,"

said Spike, diffidently.

"And if there wasn't?"

"I'd climb up de porch an' into one of de bedrooms," said Spike, almost blushing. He felt like a boy reading his first attempts at original poetry to an established critic. What would this master cracksman, this polished wielder of the oxy-acetylene blow-pipe, this expert in toxicology, microscopy and physics think of his callow outpourings!

"How would you get into the bedroom?"

Spike hung his head.

"Bust de catch wit' me jemmy," he whispered, shamefacedly.

"Burst the catch with your jemmy?"

"It's de only way I ever learned," pleaded Spike.

The expert was silent. He seemed to be thinking. The other watched his face, humbly.

"How would youse do it, boss?" he ventured timidly, at last.

"Eh?"

"How would youse do it?"

"Why, I'm not sure," said the master, graciously, "whether your way might not do in a case like that. It's crude, of course, but with a few changes it would do."

"Gee, boss! Is dat right?" queried the astonished disciple.

"It would do," said the master, frowning thoughtfully; "it would do quite well--quite well!"

Spike drew a deep breath of joy and astonishment. That his methods should meet with approval from such a mind...!

"Gee!" he whispered--as who would say, "I and Napoleon."

CHAPTER VI

AN EXHIBITION PERFORMANCE

Cold reason may disapprove of wagers, but without a doubt there is something joyous and lovable in the type of mind that rushes at the least provocation into the making of them, something smacking of the s.p.a.cious days of the Regency. Nowadays, the spirit seems to have deserted England. When Mr. Asquith became Premier of Great Britain, no earnest forms were to be observed rolling peanuts along the Strand with a toothpick. When Mr. Asquith is dethroned, it is improbable that any Briton will allow his beard to remain unshaved until the Liberal party returns to office. It is in the United States that the wager has found a home. It is characteristic of some minds to dash into a wager with the fearlessness of a soldier in a forlorn hope, and, once in, to regard it almost as a sacred trust.

Some men never grow up out of the schoolboy spirit of "daring."

To this cla.s.s Jimmy Pitt belonged. He was of the same type as the man in the comic opera who proposed to the lady because somebody bet him he wouldn't. There had never been a time when a challenge, a "dare," had not acted as a spur to him. In his newspaper days, life had been one long series of challenges. They had been the essence of the business. A story had not been worth getting unless the getting were difficult.

With the conclusion of his newspaper life came a certain flatness into the scheme of things. There were times, many times, when Jimmy was bored. He hungered for excitement, and life appeared to have so little to offer! The path of the rich man was so smooth, and it seemed to lead nowhere! This task of burgling a house was like an unexpected treat to a child. With an intensity of purpose that should have touched his sense of humor, but, as a matter of fact, did not appeal to him as ludicrous in any way, he addressed himself to the work. The truth was that Jimmy was one of those men who are charged to the brim with force. Somehow, the force had to find an outlet. If he had undertaken to collect birds' eggs, he would have set about it with the same tense energy.

Spike was sitting on the edge of his chair, dazed but happy, his head still buzzing from the unhoped-for praise. Jimmy looked at his watch. It was nearly three o'clock. A sudden idea struck him. The G.o.ds had provided gifts: why not take them?

"Spike!"

"Huh?"

"Would you care to come and crack a crib with me, now?"

Reverential awe was written on the red-haired one's face.

"Gee, boss!"

"Would you?"

"Surest t'ing you know, boss."

"Or, rather," proceeded Jimmy, "would you care to crack a crib while I came along with you? Strictly speaking, I am here on a vacation, but a trifle like this isn't real work. It's this way," he explained. "I've taken a fancy to you, Spike, and I don't like to see you wasting your time on coa.r.s.e work. You have the root of the matter in you, and with a little coaching I could put a polish on you. I wouldn't do this for everyone, but I hate to see a man bungling who might do better! I want to see you at work. Come right along, and we'll go up-town, and you shall start in. Don't get nervous. Just work as you would if I were not there. I shall not expect too much. Rome was not built in a day. When we are through, I will criticize a few of your mistakes. How does that suit you?"

"Gee, boss! Great! An' I know where dere's a peach of a place, boss.

Regular soft proposition. A friend of mine told me. It's--"

"Very well, then. One moment, though."

He went to the telephone. Before he had left New York on his travels, Arthur Mifflin had been living at a hotel near Washington Square. It was probable that he was still there. He called up the number. The night-clerk was an old acquaintance of his.

"h.e.l.lo, Dixon," said Jimmy, "is that you? I'm Pitt--Pitt! Yes, I'm back. How did you guess? Yes, very pleasant. Has Mr. Mifflin come in yet? Gone to bed? Never mind, call him up, will you? Good."

Presently, the sleepy and outraged voice of Mr. Mifflin spoke at the other end of the line.

"What's wrong? Who the devil's that?"

"My dear Arthur! Where you pick up such expressions I can't think--not from me."

"Is that you, Jimmy? What in the name of--!"

"Heavens! What are you kicking about? The night's yet young. Arthur, touching that little arrangement we made--cracking that crib, you know. Are you listening? Have you any objection to my taking an a.s.sistant along with me? I don't want to do anything contrary to our agreement, but there's a young fellow here who's anxious that I should let him come along and pick up a few hints. He's a professional all right. Not in our cla.s.s, of course, but quite a fair rough workman. He--Arthur! Arthur! These are harsh words! Then, am I to understand you have no objection? Very well. Only, don't say later on that I didn't play fair. Good-night."

He hung up the receiver, and turned to Spike.

"Ready?"