Why, in one story, all I got was
a kiss from a little girl who came in on me when I was opening a safe.
And it tasted of molasses candy, too. I've a good notion to tie this
table cover over your head and keep on into the silver-closet."
"Oh, no, you haven't," said Tommy, wrapping his arms around his knees.
"Because if you did no editor would buy the story. You know you've
got to preserve the unities."
"So've you," said the burglar, rather glumly. "Instead of sitting here
talking impudence and taking the bread out of a poor man's mouth, what
you'd like to be doing is hiding under the bed and screeching at the
top of your voice."
"You're right, old man," said Tommy, heartily. "I wonder what they
make us do it for? I think the S. P. C. C. ought to interfere. I'm
sure it's neither agreeable nor usual for a kid of my age to butt in
when a full-grown burglar is at work and offer him a red sled and a
pair of skates not to awaken his sick mother. And look how they make
the burglars act! You'd think editors would know--but what's the
use?"
The burglar wiped his hands on the tablecloth and arose with a yawn.
"Well, let's get through with it," he said. "God bless you, my little
boy! you have saved a man from committing a crime this night.
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