widening.

'But about this villa,' said Jimmy. 'I am always interested even in

the humblest sides of the profession. Now, tell me, supposing you

were going to break into a villa, what time of night would you do

it?'

'I always t'inks it's best either late like dis or when de folks is

in at supper,' said Spike, respectfully.

Jimmy smiled a faint, patronizing smile, and nodded.

'Well, and what would you do?'

'I'd rubber around some to see isn't dere a window open somewheres,'

said Spike, diffidently.

'And if there wasn't?'

'I'd climb up de porch an' into one of de bedrooms,' said Spike,

almost blushing. He felt like a boy reading his first attempts at

original poetry to an established critic. What would this master

cracksman, this polished wielder of the oxy-acetylene blow-pipe,

this expert in toxicology, microscopy and physics think of his

callow outpourings!

'How would you get into the bedroom?'

Spike hung his head.

'Bust de catch wit' me jemmy,' he whispered, shamefacedly.

'Burst the catch with your jemmy?'

'It's de only way I ever learned,' pleaded Spike.

The expert was silent. He seemed to be thinking. The other watched

his face, humbly.

'How would youse do it, boss?' he ventured timidly, at last.

'Eh?'

'How would youse do it?'

'Why, I'm not sure,' said the master, graciously, 'whether your way

might not do in a case like that. It's crude, of course, but with a

few changes it would do.'

'Gee, boss! Is dat right?' queried the astonished disciple.

'It would do,' said the master, frowning thoughtfully; 'it would do

quite well--quite well!'

Spike drew a deep breath of joy and astonishment. That his methods

should meet with approval from such a mind...!

'Gee!' he whispered--as who would say, 'I and Napoleon.'

CHAPTER VI

AN EXHIBITION PERFORMANCE

Cold reason may disapprove of wagers, but without a doubt there is

something joyous and lovable in the type of mind that rushes at the

least provocation into the making of them, something smacking of the

spacious days of the Regency. Nowadays, the spirit seems to have

deserted England. When Mr. Asquith became Premier of Great Britain,

no earnest forms were to be observed rolling peanuts along the

Strand with a toothpick. When Mr. Asquith is dethroned, it is

improbable that any Briton will allow his beard to remain unshaved

until the Liberal party returns to office. It is in the United

States that the wager has found a home. It is characteristic of some

minds to dash into a wager with the fearlessness of a soldier in a

forlorn hope, and, once in, to regard it almost as a sacred trust.

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