"But, George dear, he's here--in the room!"
There was something in my wife's voice, a note of ringing exultation,
that brought me bolt upright in bed.
"Put up your hands--quick!" said a staccato voice.
It was true, there at the end of the bed, flashing the conventional
bull's-eye lantern, stood at last a real burglar.
"Put 'em up!"
My hands went heavenward in thanksgiving and gratitude.
"Make a move, you candy dude, or shout for help," continued the voice,
shoving into the light the muzzle of a Colt's revolver, "and this for
you's!"
The slighting allusion I took to the credit of the pink and white
pajamas I wore--but nothing at that moment could have ruffled my
feelings. I was bubbling over with happiness. I wanted to jump up and
hug him in my arms. I listened. Downstairs could be heard the sound of
feet and an occasional metallic ring.
"Oh, George, isn't it too wonderful--wonderful for words!" said Clara,
hysterical with joy.
"I can't believe it," I cried.
"Shut up!" said the voice behind the lantern.
Pages:
252
253
254
255
256
257
258
259
260
261
262
263
264
265
266
267
268
269
270
271
272
273
274
275
276