A PROFESSIONAL’S ESCAPADE.
IT was before my uncle died and left me his fortune. I
was compelled to work those days, though I worked in
my own way. Jack and I had quarrelled just on the eve
of executing- a plot arranged long before. Later I was hard
pressed for money, and the town was fast becoming too
warm for my liking, when a happy thought struck me. Why
not do the thing myself? I had planned it, even to the de
tails, for Jack never was of much help to me in that direc
tion. Well, to make a long story short, I left town that day
intending to try my hand alone the following bight. It was
a touchy job, but knowing that Jack was not for me, my
mind was made up.
The house stood alone and well' back from the road.
The nig'lit, too, was in my favor; the wind howled and the
moon was behind a black curtain of swift moviug clouds.
After a deal of trouble with a stubborn shutter, I was able
to enter by a side window; and, once inside, I worked stead
ily for an hour, only stopping now and then to listen. I had
succeeded in making my neatest haul in years, when 1 was
startled by a slight scraping noise at the window I had
tapped. I confess I was a bit shaky, but my former train
ing and my professional instinct stood me in good stead.
Slipping the slide over the face of my lantern, I moved along
the wall till I stood close beside the window. What was my
surprise when, a moment later, I recognized the big head
and clumsy form of Jack?
I wanted to laugh. It was all such a monstrous joke to
think of Jack—to whom I owed a grudge—working my own
game, and on the same night in the bargain !
I had reason to know that a laugh would cost me dear,
besides, it’s a poor joke that won’t keep. I now heard a
A Professional’s Escapade .