Democratic Sentinel, Volume 18, Number 34, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 7 September 1894 — THE HONEST BURGLAR. [ARTICLE]

THE HONEST BURGLAR.

BY H. C. DODGE.

I am in the burgling business, and I maintain that it can be conducted as honestly as any other. Perhaps I am mistaken, but I certainly raised it to a much higher level than it was when first I selected that means of livelihood. My motto, “Honesty is the Best Policy—See,” is neatly engraved on all my professional tools and my title of “The Honest Burglar,” will go on my tombstone in due time, and when my strictly honorable exploits can be safely mentioned with pride .by my relatives and friends. I always made a point of seeking a foeman worthy of my steal. Never do I enter a house no matter what inducements its contents may offer — which has not the very latest scientific burglar protections. Ordinary locks and bolts I positively refuse to attack and carelessly left open doors and windows I disdain to make use of. I leave those little tidbits for dishonest burglars who take not the professional pride that I find so liightoaed and jrofitajjje and so cncour. aging Fo one’s self-respect. Now that I have introduced my honest self I’ll tell a story. A wealthy chap who had made his millions in a way I despise had erected a mansion with all the finest electrical burglar alarms known to date. Every door and window’ was doubly protected so the slightest touch after the wires were set would jangle numberless bells and turn on the lighted gas all over the house in a brilliant illumination. In addition to all that melodious display there were telltale steps on each staircase and tempting bits of silverware connected w’ith wires to the main battery lept in plain sight by the safe in the dining-room. All these imposing preparations, so expensive and troublesome for their owner gave to me a glorious delight, a looking forward to attacking them with a small boy’s Fourth of July enthusiasm. At last the battle night came, a nd with it Mr. William Mummer, my active partner in the business. Mr. Mummer was highly respected in the profession. Like myself, he never stooped to conquer, and was equally noted for his gentlemanly ways and sturdy honesty. Only once in his busy life was he ever taken in and done for, and I couldn’t blame him a bit, either.

You see he was making a professional call on a rich bachelor, and while putting things away in the handsome room he was painfully surprised by the sudden arrival of his host with some gentle’man friends. Not willing to seem intrusive, Mr. Mummer quietly slipped under tne bed to await an opportunity for departing pleasantly. From his snug retreat Mr. Mummer beheld six well-polished boots spread themselves comfortably on the Turkish rug, evidently in shape to stay awhile, despite William’s anxiety to catch the train for home. Soon the jolly gentlemen lighted cigars and commenced telling funny stories, ending each with a chorus of hearty laughter. William, who understood the proper etiquette of not mixing in where he wasn’t wanted, kept a becoming silence until a funnier story than usual was told, and then, after an agonizing struggle to choke his unfortunate mirth, he exploded with a tremendous “ haw-haw-haw!” which frightened the gentlemen shamefully. It is needless to say that Mr. Mummer had ample time afterward to enjoy the joke while taking a little vacation from business in the State Laundry. But he soon recovered my respect for his sterling qualities by a trick he played when cornered in a fashionable boarding house one night. While the landlady was ringing the big bell and the alarmed boarders were searching for him with guns, Mr. Mummer entered a deserted room and promptly went to bed with his boots on. There, with the blanket tucked tightly under his handsome chin, he lay yelling as loud as the loudest and grandly ordering the bold warriors with guns from his room when they rushed in to see if he Was being murdered. ’Twas lucky his bed belonged to a terror-stricken maiden lady who had sought refuge elsewhere—otherwise Mr. Mummer might not have been so very smart, after all. But he got out of his scrape at daylight and took his swag, too, and consequently his fame was undiminished by that episode. Now that I have irftroduced Mr. William Mummer, Esq., I will go on with my story. "fwas a black midnight in a dreary November. The sky was clouded and a lively wind was banging shutters and moaning through the swaying branches as Bill and 1 quietly stole along the dismally dark and deserted country road. With valises containing articles used, in our trade, and smoking pipes with stoppers on to hide their glow, we silently made good time over the wt and soggy ground till old Fort

Electricity, as we dubbed the object of our attack, loomed up before us. We knew the place well, for both Bill and myself had managed to secure work there when the house was being remodeled. Through a side hedge and across a large lawn from tree to tree we cautiously advanced, pausing frequently to observe and listen. Not asound.save the uncanny shriek of a screech owl, and the blustering, chilly wind soughing among the evergreens and creaking the bare treetops, fell on our eager ears. Thanks to the supposed superior protection of electricity, dogs were not on hand to interfere with our pleasure—though had there been we had a patent way of winning their friendship. When we got close to the house we made a circuit around it, and finding everything safe and comfortable, we prepared for business. Instead of attempting a guarded door or window, dr even cutting a hole through the clapboards into the parlor, as we might have done to avoid the wires, our plan was to enter through the unprotected roof. Taking from my bag an arrow, with a coil of fishingline attached, I placed it in a bow (which had been my cane while traveling) and neatly shot the line above and over the house, so that it fell clear of windows or obstructions.

In a few minutes a signal tug on it told me that Bill had found the arrow on ’tother side of. the house. Then I tied on a heavier line, light but strong enough to hang two ordinary men, and signaled Bill to haul away. Next I fastened on a well greased, high-power pulley block, on which was the flexible rope for our ascent, and gave the signal to haul away again and make fast. Soon Bill did so and, joining me, we got ready to go aloft. I went first, of course, being the senior partner in the concern and chief manager of my unpatented invention.

Comfortably sitting on a wooden cross-piece I pulled away on the endless rope attachment (one pound pull lifting four), and easily raised myself to where I could reach and mount upon the broad eaves of the shingled sloping roof. In a jiffy Partner Bill performed th? same circus act and was at my side.

Like two cats we quickly clambered, with the help of the cross line, to the scuttle, and then, with no trouble at all to such artists as we were, the bolt was forced and Fort Electricity was taken, with its garrison blissfully dreaming of the safety afforded by the latest burglar alarms. Softly creeping down the scuttle ladder we gained the garret floor and there, by the cheery light of our dark lanterns, we donneij our working suits consisting of long white nightgown and caps, and which, I am proud to say ,|I invented for occasions like the present. Being an honest burglar, I never considered it square to needlessly startle a sleeping person. The ladies especially suffer from nervous shock and fright and either faint dead away or scream so loudly that it is annoying to say the least. The men are apt to waxen out of humor or scared to death, and in both cases are generally beyond reach of argument.

But in our handsome ruffled nightgowns and caps we fearlessly glide in and out of bedrooms, make halfawake men turn over on their pillows so we can get their watches or pistols with no more than a sleepy grunt at being disturbed, and even get in bed beside them if there’s danger of actual discovery. You see our boldness and appearance naturally causes them to take us for members of the tamily and treat us accordingly. This surely is much pleasanter than burning sulphur matches under their noses or blinding their eyes with the rays of a dark lantern, or giving them a pointed revolver bluff or a billy crack on a defenseless bald head. Put yourself in their places and I guess you’ll fully agree with me. Well, Bill and I, like two whiterobed Santa Clauses, came downstairs and went straight to outwork, Bill taking the rooms on one side of the dimly-lighted hall, and I the others. Here let me say that snoring, which is usually offensive to the listener, becomes in our business a most melodious and soothing sound. Like Sancho Panza, I bless the man who invented sleep, and tnrice bless the woman, perhaps, who invented the sweeter snore, though I never do it myself, not having time at night like other folks. Breathing these blessings, I entered the main room, where the old general of the fort lay snoring for all he was worth. First I tackled his trousers and got his well-stuffed wallet, then picked up a young jewelry store from the bureau, then fished for his watch under his pillow. But the oldsnorer lay on it hard so it wouldn’t ceme. Shoving him gently by the shoulder I whispered “turn over.” Half opening his eyes, enough to see my white robe, he gave the usual grunt and obeyed. In a moment.his interrupted snore became louder than before, and the ticker was mine. To the next room I went and as easily helped myself. The third room, which was the guest chamber, I visited with equal success, and then, not' intending to upset the electrical arrangement on the first floor, I sneaked out in the hall to find Bill and skip out for good the way he had come. A dimly-burning gaslight made the darkness visible, and shortly I saw Bill’s noble ghostlike figure emerge from a room and, without looking in my direction, walk toward the far end of the hall. In one instant I noiselessly reached him and, touehing his arm, whispered: “Come, Bill; it’s time to git!” 1 The form turned around—but it wasn’t Bill. The fierce mother-in-law of the establishment stood before me, burning me with her eyes. Ere I could hide my surprised face and mode tly retreat—so she might I do the same—she got onto my nightI gown racket and like a tigress she grabbed my whiskers with both hands and shrieked “murder” and “thieves!” "robbery!” “he)*!”

etc., till she made me tired. I nevei felt so queer in all my life. At once yells and screams and howls of fear came from all over in a mad chorus; off went the burglaralarm bells and the rattles and up flashed the gas till the whole lower part of the house was brilliant. Luckily I had captured the pillowed pistols, or they’d have gone off too. At the instant a stalwart figure in white bounded out of another room and flew to my assistance. “Bill!” I gasped, “Quick! For your life! Pull her away!” He gently but firmly embraced the old lady’s waist and pulled while I tried to bite her worse than tiger’s claws. “Tickle her, Bill!” I groan* ed, since the pull didn’t work. That fetched her. She lost her grip—re taining, however, half my beard, and went for Bill. But he was too quick to be caught. Neatly dodging her terrible talons, he pushed her in a room, and before the terrified household dare show themselves we had. escaped through the scuttle and were on the roof. A’slide down the rope and our safety was secured, but we had not a second to lose. Hastily we tried to find our only means of flight. Like great lizards we crawled about in the darkness, but our efforts were vain. The rope was gone. “What’s up now, Bill?” I whispered. “We are, Tom,” he answered grimly, “we’ve been shadowed from outside and they’ve cut the rope. Nice trap for two old rats like we.” In spite of myself I shivered. “Well, what’s to be done, Bill? No use praying for aballoon, is there?” “Not much, pard,” said William as cheerfully as he could, “and no use trying the front door. There ain’t a lightning rod, either, to slide down on, and we can’t reach the water leader. I wish I was a bird.” “Well, we’ll both be birds—jailbirds—Bill, if we don’t do something. Think quick.” Now guns were beginning to shoot from the windows and we heard answering shouts from without. Evidently the house was being surrounded. “Tom,” whispered Bill, “I’ve thought. We must jump.” “Up or down?” says I, not relishing the job. “Down, of course,” grinned brave William, “into the big evergreen tree by that chimney. Now, Tomcome on.”

Bill skinned to the roof’s edge like a monkey, I after him. When over he leaped into the blackness and I heard the branches break, but no sickening thud on the ground, as I feared. Giving him time to get out of my way, I followed, and also held on the bending boughs. In a trice both of us reached the grass, and before we could start to run a dozen excited men with pitchforks and guns were around us, the light from the windows showing us to advantage. But luckily we had forgot to remove our nightgowns. ‘,‘Quick now 1” cried Bill, with wonderful presence of mind. “Save our folks in the house. The robbers are murdering them. They chased us out the windows. Smash in the front door and save their lives. Don’t you hear them scream?” Off rushed our captors and with axes they broke the door and entered to the rescue. Bill and I dropping our robes de nuit, took the opposite direction, gained the road, and laughed all the way home.—[Detroit Free Press.