Rensselaer Republican, Volume 17, Number 36, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 14 May 1885 — A NEAT JOB. [ARTICLE]

A NEAT JOB.

A Burglar’s Story,* My profession isn’t a popular one. There’s considerable prejudice against it. I don’t myself think it’s much worse than a good many ‘ others. However, that’s nothing to do with my story. Some years ago, me and the gentleman who was at that time connected with me in business —he's met with reverses since then, and at present isn’t able to get out —was looking around for a job, being at that time rather hard up, as you might say. We struck a small country town —I ain’t a goin’ to give it away by telling where it was, or what the name of it was. There was one bank there; the President was a rich old duffer; owned the mills, owned the bank, owned most of the town. There wasn’t no other officer but the Cashier, and they had a boy who used to sweep out and run of errands. The bank was on the main street, pretty Well up one end of it—nice, snug place.on the corner of a cross street,with nothing very near it. We took our observations, and there was no trouble at all abont it. There was an old Stoughton bottle of a watchman that wa.ked up and down the street nights, when he didn’t fall asleep and forget it. The vault had two doors; tho outside one was chilled iron and had a three-wheel combination lock; the inner door wasn’t no door at all; you could kick it open. It didn’t pretend tp be nothing but fireproof, and wasn’t even that. The first thing we done, of course, was to fit a key to the outside door. A s the lock on the outside door was an old-fashioned "Bacon lock, “any gentleman in my profession who chanoes to read that article will know just how easy that job was, and how we down it. I may say here that the gentlemen in my line of business, having at times a good doal of leisure on their hands, do considerable reading, and are particularly fond of a ceat bit of writing. In fact, in this way of literature I have found among ’em—--however, this being a digression I drop it and go on with the main job again. This was onr plan: After the key was fitted I was to go into the bank, and Jim—that wasn’t his name, of oourse, but let it pass —was to keep watch on the outside. When any one passed he was to tip me a whistle, and then I doused the glim and laid low. After they got by I goes on again. Simple and easy, yon see. Well, the night we selected the President happened to be out of town—gone down to the city, as he often did. I got inside all right, with a slide lantern, a breast drill, a small jimmy, a bunch of skeleton keys, and a green baize bag to stow tho swag. I fixed my light and rigged my breast drill, and got to work on the door right over the lock. Probably a great many of your readers is not so well posted as me about bank locks, and, I may say for them, that a three-wheel combination lock bas three wheels in it and a slot in each wheel. In order to unlock the door you bave to get the three slots opposite to each other at the top of the lock. Of course if yon know the number the lock is set on you can do this, but if you don’t yon have to depend on yonr . ingenuity. There is in each of these a small hole, through which you put a wire through the back of the lock when you change the combination. Now, if you can bore a hole through the door and pick up those wheels by running a wire through those holes, why yon can open the door. I hope I make myself clear. I was boring that hole. The door was chilled iron, about the neatest stuff I ever worked on. I went on steady enough;only stopped when Jim —which, as I said, wasn’t his real name —whistled outside, and the watchman toddled by. By and by, when I’d got pretty nearly through, Jim, so to speak, whistled again. I stopped, and pretty soon I heard footsteps outside, and I’m d—l mean blowed—if they •didn’t come right up to the bank steps, and I heard a key in the lock. I was ao dnmfounded when I heard that, that you could have slipped the bracelets right on me. I picked up my lantern, and 111 be banged if I didn’t let the ' , slide slip down and throw the light right onto the door, and there was the President Instead of calling for help, as I supposed he would, he took a step inside the door, and shaded his eyes with his hand and looked at me. ] knowed I ought to knook him down and cut out, but I’m blest if I could, 1 was that surprised. “Who are you?" says he. “Who are you?" says I, thinking that was an innocent remark, os he com- ... V .

menced it, and a-trying all the dime to colleot myself. * “I’m the President of tho bank,” says he, kinder short. “Something the matter with the lock?” “By George!" The idba cpme to me then. “Yes, sir,” says I, touching my cap. .“Mr. Jennings, he telegraphed this morning the lock was out of order and ho couldn't get in, and I’m come on to open it for him.” “I told Jennings a week ago,” ho, “that he ought to get that fixed. Whore is he?” . J “He’s been a-writing letters, and{liVs gone up to'his house to get another letter he wanted to answer.” “Well, why don’t you go right on?” says he. “I’ve got almost through,” says I, “and I didn’t want to finish up and open the vault till there was somebody here.” “That’s very creditable to you,” says he. “A very proper sentiment, my man. You can’t,” he goes on, coming round by the dopr, “be too particular about avoiding the very of evil.” “No, sir,” says I, kinder modest like. “Wliatdo you suppose is the matter with the lock?” 'says he. “I don’t rightly know yet,” says I; “but I rather think it’s a little wore on account of not being oiled enough. These ’ere locks ought to be oiled about once a year.” “Well,” says he, “you might as well go right on, now I am here; I will stay till Jennings conies. Can’t I help you? Hold your lantern, or something of that sort?" The thought came to me like a flash, aDd I turned around and says: “How do I know you’re the President? I ain’t e ver seen you afore, and you may be a-trying to crack the bank for all I know.” “That’s a very proper inquiry, my man,” says he, “and shows a most remarkable degree of direction. I confess that I should have thought of tho position in which I. was placing you. However, I can easily convince you that it's all right. Do you know what the President's name is?” „ “No, I don't,” says I, sorter surly. “Well, you'll find it on that bill,” said he, taking a bill out of his pocket, “and you see the same name on these letters,” and he took some letters from his coat. I suppose I ought to have gone right on then, but I was beginning to leel interested in making him prove who he was, so I says: “You might have got them letters to ppt up a job on me.” “You’re a very honest man,” says he, “one among a thousand. Don’t think I’m at all offended at your persistence. No my good fellow. I like it, I like it,” and he laid his hand on my shoulder. “Now, here,” says he, taking a bundle out of his pocket, “is a package of $lO,000 in bonds, A burglar wouldn't be apt to carry those around With him, would he? I bought them in the city yesterday, and I stopped here to-night on my way home.to place them in the vault, and, I may add, that your simple and manly honesty has so touched me that I would willingly leave them in your hands for safe keeping. You needn’t blush at my praise.” I suppose I did turn sorter red when I see them bonds. “Are you satisfied now?” said hq, I told him I was thoroughly, and so I was. So I picked up my drill again and give him the lantern to hold, so that I cbuld see the door. I heard Jim, as I call him. ontside once or twice, and I like to have burst out laughing, thinking how he must be wondering what was going on inside. I worked away and kept explaining to him what I was a-trying to do. He was very much interested in mechanics, he said, and he knowed as I was a man up in my business by the way I went to work. He asked me about what wages I got, and how I liked my business, and said he’d took quite a fancy to me. I turned around once in a while and looked at him a-setting up there as solemn as a biled owl, with a dark lantern in his blessed hand, and I’m blamed if I didn’t think I should have to holler right out. I got through the lock pretty soon, and put in my wire and opened it. Then he took hold of the door and opened the vault. “I’ll put my bonds in,” says he, “and go home. You can lock up .and wait till Mr. Jennings comes. I don’t suppose you will try to fix the lock tonight?” I told him I shouldn’t do anything more with it now, as we could get in before morning. “Well, I’ll bid you good night, my man,” says he, as I swung the door to again. Just then I heard Jim, by name, whistle, and I guessed the watchman was a-coming up the street. . “Ah,” says I, “you might speak to the watchman, if you see him, and tell him to keep an extra lookout tonight.” “I will,” says he, and we both went to the front door. “There comes the watchman up the street,” says I. “Watchman, this man has been fixing the bank lock, and I want you to keep a sharp lookout to-night. He will stay here until Mr. Jennings’ return.” “Good night, again,” says he, and we shook hands, and he went up the street. I saw Jim, so-called, in the shadow on the other side of the street, as I stood on the step with the watchman. “Well,” says I to the watchman, “I’ll go and pick up my tools and get ready to go.” I went back into the bank, and it didn’t take long to throw the door open and staff them bonds into the bag. There was some boxes lying aronnd and a safe, I should rather have liked to tackie, but it seemed like tempting Providence after the luck we’d had. I looked at my watch and see it was just 12:15. There was an expre-s went through at 12:30. I tucked my tools with the bag on top of the- bonds and walked out to the front door. The watchman was on the steps. “I don’t believe I’ll waik for Mr. Jennings.” says I “I suppose it will be all right if I give you this key." “That’s says the watchman. “I won’t go away very far from the bank,” says L. “No, I wouldn’t,” says* he, "I’ll stay right abont here all night."

“Good night,” says I,’ and 1 shook hands,with him, and me and Jim—which wasn't fhis right you understand—toojk the 12:30 express, and the host part of that job vtas. \i g. ■never heard nothing of it. *. It never got ifito the papers. —lnter Ocean.