Chapter One
The house on the hill showed lights only upon the
first
floor—in the spacious reception hall, the
dining room,
and those more or less mysterious purlieus thereof
from
which emanate disagreeable odors and agreeable foods.
From behind a low bush across the wide lawn a pair
of eyes transferred to an alert brain these simple
per-
ceptions from which the brain deduced with Sherlock-
ian accuracy and Raffleian purpose that the family
of
the president of The First National Bank of—Oh,
let’s
call it Oakdale—was at dinner, that the
servants were be-
low stairs and the second floor deserted.
The owner of the eyes had but recently descended
from the quarters of the chauffeur above the garage
which he had entered as a thief in the night and quitted
apparelled in a perfectly good suit of clothes belong-
ing to the gentlemanly chauffeur and a soft, checked
cap which was now pulled well down over a pair of
large brown eyes in which a rather strained expression
might have suggested to an alienist a certain neophy-
tism which even the stern set of well shaped lips
could
not effectually belie.
Apparently this was a youth steeling himself against
a natural repugnance to the dangerous profession he
had
espoused; and when, a moment later, he stepped out
into the moonlight and crossed the lawn toward the
house, the slender, graceful lines which the ill-fitting
clothes could not entirely conceal carried the conviction
of youth if not of innocence.
The brazen assurance with which the lad crossed the
lawn and mounted the steps to the verandah suggested
a familiarity with the habits and customs of the inmates
of the house upon the hill which bespoke long and
care-
ful study of the contemplated job. An old timer
could
not have moved with greater confidence. No detail
seemed to have escaped his cunning calculation.
Though
the door leading from the verandah into the reception
hall swung wide to the balmy airs of late Spring the
prowler passed this blatant invitation to the hospitality
of the House of Prim. It was as though he knew
that
from his place at the head of the table, with his
back
toward the great fire place which is the pride of
the
Prim dining hall, Jonas Prim commands a view of the
major portion of the reception hall.
Stooping low the youth passed along the verandah to
a window of the darkened library—a French
window
which swung open without noise to his light touch.
Step-
ping within he crossed the room to a door which opened
at the foot of a narrow stairway—a convenient
little stair-
way which had often let the Hon. Jonas Prim to pass
from his library to his second floor bed-room unnoticed
when Mrs. Prim chanced to be entertaining the femi-
nine elite of Oakdale across the hall. A convenient
little
stairway for retiring husbands and diffident burglars—
yes, indeed!
The darkness of the upper hallway offered no obstacle
to this familiar housebreaker. He passed the
tempting
luxury of Mrs. Prim’s boudoir, the chaste elegance
of
Jonas Prim’s bed-room with all the possibilities
of forgot-
ten wallets and negotiable papers, setting his course
straight for the apartments of Abigail Prim, the spinster
daughter of the First National Bank of Oakdale.
Or
should we utilize a more charitable and at the same
time
more truthful word than spinster? I think we
should,
since Abigail was but nineteen and quite human, de-
spite her name.
Upon the dressing table of Abigail reposed much sil-
ver and gold and ivory, wrought by clever artisans
into
articles of great beauty and some utility; but with
scarce
a glance the burglar passed them by, directing his
course
straight across the room to a small wall safe cleverly
hidden by a bit of tapestry.
How, Oh how, this suggestive familiarity with the
innermost secrets of a virgin’s sacred apartments
upon
the part of one so obviously of the male persuasion
and,
by his all too apparent calling, a denizen of that
under-
world of which no Abigail should have intimate knowl-
edge? Yet, truly and with scarce a faint indication
of
groping, though the room was dark, the marauder
walked directly to the hidden safe, swung back the
tapestry in its frame, turned the knob of the combina-
tion and in a moment opened the circular door of the
strong box.
A fat roll of bills and a handful of jewelry he trans-
ferred to the pockets of his coat. Some papers
which his
hand brushed within the safe he pushed aside as though
preadvised of their inutility to one of his calling.
Then
he closed the safe door, closed the tapestry upon
it
and turned toward a dainty dressing table. From
a
drawer in this exquisite bit of Sheraton the burglar
took
a small, nickel plated automatic, which he slipped
into
an inside breast pocket of his coat, nor did he touch
another article therein or thereon, nor hesitate an
in-
stant in the selection of the drawer to be rifled.
His
knowledge of the apartment of the daughter of the
house of Prim was little short of uncanny. Doubtless
the
fellow was some plumber’s apprentice who had
made
good use of an opportunity to study the lay of the
land
against a contemplated invasion of these holy pre-
cincts.
But even the most expert of second story men nod
and now that all seemed as though running on greased
rails a careless elbow raked a silver candle-stick
from
the dressing table to the floor where it crashed with
a
resounding din that sent cold shivers up the youth’s
spine and conjured in his mind a sudden onslaught
of
investigators from the floor below.
The noise of the falling candlestick sounded to the
taut nerved house-breaker as might the explosion of
a
stick of dynamite during prayer in a meeting house.
That all Oakdale had heard it seemed quite possible,
while that those below stairs were already turning
ques-
tioning ears, and probably inquisitive footsteps,
upward
was almost a foregone conclusion.
Adjoining Miss Prim’s boudoir was her bath and
be-
fore the door leading from the one to the other was
a
cretonne covered screen behind which the burglar now
concealed himself the while he listened in rigid appre-
hension for the approach of the enemy; but the only
sound that came to him from the floor below was the
deep laugh of Jonas Prim. A profound sigh of
relief es-
caped the beardless lips; for that laugh assured the
youth that, after all, the noise of the fallen candlestick
had not alarmed the household.
With knees that still trembled a bit he crossed the
room and passed out into the hallway, descended the
stairs, and stood again in the library. Here
he paused
a moment listening to the voices which came from the
dining room. Mrs. Prim was speaking. “I
feel quite re-
lieved about Abigail,” she was saying.
“I believe that at
last she sees the wisdom and the advantages of an
alliance with Mr. Benham, and it was almost with en-
thusiasm that she left this morning to visit his sister.
I am positive that a week or two of companionship
with him will impress upon her the fine qualities
of his
nature. We are to be congratulated, Jonas, upon
settling
our daughter so advantageously both in the matter
of
family and wealth.”
Jonas Prim grunted. “Sam Benham is old
enough to
be the girl’s father,” he growled.
“If she wants him, all
right; but I can’t imagine Abbie wanting a bald-headed
husband with rheumatism. I wish you’d
let her alone,
Pudgy, to find her own mate in her own way—someone
nearer her own age.”
“The child is not old enough to judge wisely
for her-
self,” replied Mrs. Prim. “It was
my duty to arrange a
proper alliance; and, Jonas, I will thank you not
to call
me Pudgy—it is perfectly ridiculous for
a woman of my
age—and position.”
The burglar did not hear Mr. Prim’s reply for
he had
moved across the library and passed out onto the ve-
randah. Once again he crossed the lawn, taking
advan-
tage of the several trees and shrubs which dotted
it,
scaled the low stone wall at the side and was in the
concealing shadows of the unlighted side street which
bounds the Prim estate upon the south. The streets
of
Oakdale are flanked by imposing battalions of elm
and
maple which over-arch and meet above the thorough-
fares; and now, following an early Spring, their foliage
eclipsed the infrequent arclights to the eminent satis-
faction of those nocturnal wayfarers who prefer neither
publicity nor the spot light. Of such there
are few within
the well ordered precincts of lawabiding Oakdale;
but
to-night there was at least one and this one was deeply
grateful for the gloomy walks along which he hurried
toward the limits of the city.
At last he found himself upon a country road with
the odors of Spring in his nostrils and the world
before
him. The night noises of the open country fell
strangely
upon his ears accentuating rather than relieving the
my-
riad noted silence of Nature. Familiar sounds
became
unreal and weird, the deep bass of innumerable bull
frogs took on an uncanny humanness which sent a half
shudder through the slender frame. The burglar
felt a
sad loneliness creeping over him. He tried whistling
in
an effort to shake off the depressing effects of this
seem-
ing solitude through which he moved; but there re-
mained with him still the hallucination that he moved
alone through a strange, new world peopled by invisible
and unfamiliar forms—menacing shapes which
lurked in
waiting behind each tree and shrub.
He ceased his whistling and went warily upon the
balls of his feet, lest he unnecessarily call attention
to
his presence. If the truth were to be told it
would chron-
icle the fact that a very nervous and frightened burglar
sneaked along the quiet and peaceful country road
out-
side of Oakdale. A lonesome burglar, this, who
so craved
the companionship of man that he would almost have
welcomed joyously the detaining hand of the law had
it fallen upon him in the guise of a flesh and blood
po-
lice officer from Oakdale.
In leaving the city the youth had given little thought
to the practicalities of the open road. He had
thought,
rather vaguely, of sleeping in a bed of new clover
in
some hospitable fence corner; but the fence corners
looked very dark and the wide expanse of fields be-
yond suggested a mysterious country which might be
peopled by almost anything but human beings.
At a farm house the youth hesitated and was almost
upon the verge of entering and asking for a night’s
lodg-
ing when a savage voiced dog shattered the peace of
the universe and sent the burglar along the road at
a
rapid run.
A half mile further on a straw stack loomed large
within a fenced enclosure. The youth wormed
his way
between the barbed wires determined at last to let
nothing prevent him from making a cozy bed in the
deep straw beside the stack. With courage radiating
from every pore he strode toward the stack.
His walk
was almost a swagger, for thus does youth dissemble
the bravery it yearns for but does not possess.
He al-
most whistled again; but not quite, since it seemed
an
unnecessary provocation to disaster to call particular
attention to himself at this time. An instant
later he was
extremely glad that he had refrained, for as he ap-
proached the stack a huge bulk slowly loomed from
be-
hind it; and silhouetted against the moonlit sky he
saw
the vast proportions of a great, shaggy bull.
The burglar
tore the inside of one trousers’ leg and the
back of his
coat in his haste to pass through the barbed wire
fence
onto the open road. There he paused to mop the
per-
spiration from his forehead, though the night was
now
far from warm.
For another mile the now tired and discouraged
house-breaker plodded, heavy footed, the unending
road. Did vain compunction stir his youthful
breast? Did
he regret the safe respectability of the plumber’s
appren-
tice? Or, if he had not been a plumber’s
apprentice did
he yearn to once again assume the unharried peace
of
whatever legitimate calling had been his before he
bent
his steps upon the broad boulevard of sin? We
think he
did.
And then he saw through the chinks and apertures
in the half ruined wall of what had once been a hay
barn the rosy flare of a genial light which appeared
to
announce in all but human terms that man, red blooded
and hospitable, forgathered within. No growling
dogs,
no bulking bulls contested the short stretch of weed
grown ground between the road and the disintegrat-
ing structure; and presently two wide, brown eyes
were
peering through a crack in the wall of the abandoned
building. What they saw was a small fire built
upon
the earth floor in the center of the building and
around
the warming blaze the figures of six men. Some
reclined
at length upon old straw; others squatted, Turk fash-
ion. All were smoking either disreputable pipes
or rolled
cigarets. Blear-eyed and foxy-eyed, bearded
and stub-
bled cheeked, young and old, were the men the youth
looked upon. All were more or less dishevelled
and
filthy; but they were human. They were not dogs,
or
bulls, or croaking frogs. The boy’s heart
went out to
them. Something that was almost a sob rose in
his
throat, and then he turned the corner of the building
and stood in the doorway, the light from the fire
playing
upon his lithe young figure clothed in its torn and
ill-
fitting suit and upon his oval face and his laughing
brown eyes. For several seconds he stood there
looking
at the men around the fire. None of them had
noticed
him.
“Tramps!” thought the youth. “Regular
tramps.” He
wondered that they had not seen him, and then, clear-
ing his throat, he said: “Hello, tramps!”
Six heads snapped up or around. Six pairs of
eyes,
blear or foxy, were riveted upon the boyish figure
of
the housebreaker. “Wotinel!” ejaculated
a frowzy gentle-
man in a frock coat and golf cap. “Wheredju
blow
from?” inquired another. “’Hello,
tramps’!” mimicked a
third.
The youth came slowly toward the fire. “I
saw your
fire,” he said, “and I thought I’d
stop. I’m a tramp, too,
you know.”
“Oh,” sighed the elderly person in the
frock coat.
“He’s a tramp, he is. An’
does he think gents like us has
any time for tramps? An’ where might he
be trampin’,
sonny, without his maw?”
The youth flushed. “Oh say!” he
cried; “you needn’t
kid me just because I’m new at it. You
all had to start
sometime. I’ve always longed for the free
life of a tramp;
and if you’ll let me go along with you for a
little while,
and teach me, I’ll not bother you; and I’ll
do whatever
you say.”
The elderly person frowned. “Beat it,
kid!” he com-
manded. “We ain’t runnin’
no day nursery. These you
see here is all the real thing. Maybe we asks
fer a hand-
out now and then; but that ain’t our reg’lar
lay. You
ain’t swift enough to travel with this bunch,
kid, so
you’d better duck. Why we gents, here,
if we was added
up is wanted in about twenty-seven cities fer about
ev-
erything from rollin’ a souse to crackin’
a box and
croakin’ a bull. You gotta do something
before you can
train wid gents like us, see?” The speaker projected
a
stubbled jaw, scowled horridly and swept a flattened
palm downward and backward at a right angle to a
hairy arm in eloquent gesture of finality.
The boy had stood with his straight, black eyebrows
puckered into a studious frown, drinking in every
word.
Now he straightened up. “I guess I made
a mistake,” he
said, apologetically. “You ain’t
tramps at all. You’re
thieves and murderers and things like that.”
His eyes
opened a bit wider and his voice sank to a whisper
as
the words passed his lips. “But you haven’t
so much on
me, at that,” he went on, “for I’m
a regular burglar,
too,” and from the bulging pockets of his coat
he drew
two handfuls of greenbacks and jewelry. The
eyes of
the six registered astonishment, mixed with craft
and
greed. “I just robbed a house in Oakdale,”
explained the
boy. “I usually rob one every night.”
