To this class 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
gods 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 coarse 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.
“Hello, 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
assistant 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 class, of course, but quite a