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 mighty little I get out of these fictional
jobs, anyhow. I lose all the loot, and I have to reform every time;
and all the swag I'm allowed is the blamed little fol-de-rols and
luck-pieces that you kids hand over.
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