A Little Book for Christmas | Page 8

and myself."
"Perhaps that would be better," said the woman simply. "There doesn't
seem to be any place left for us."
"We haven't come to that yet," said the man. "Society owes me a living
and, by God, it's got to pay it to me."
It was an oft-repeated, widely held assertion, whether fallacious or not
each may determine for himself.
"I'm afraid," said the woman.
"You needn't be; nothing can be worse than this hell."
He kissed her fiercely. Albeit she was thin and haggard she was
beautiful to him. Then he bent over his little girl. He had not yet had
sufficient time since his release to get very well acquainted with her.
She had been born while he was in prison, but it had not taken any time
at all for him to learn to love her. He stared at her a moment. He bent to
kiss her and then stopped. He might awaken her. It is always best for

the children of the very poor to sleep. He who sleeps dines, runs the
Spanish proverb. He turned and kissed the little ragged stockings
instead, and then he went out. He was going to play--was it Santa Claus,
indeed?
IV
The strange, illogical, ironical god of chance, or was it Providence
acting through some careless maid, had left an area window unlocked
in the biggest and newest house on the avenue. Any house would have
been easy for "Crackerjack" if he had possessed the open sesame of his
kit of burglar's tools, but he had not had a jimmy in his hand since he
was caught with one and sent to Sing Sing. He had examined house
after house, trusting to luck as he wandered on, and, lo! fortune
favoured him.
The clock in a nearby church struck the hour of two. The areaway was
dark. No one was abroad. He plunged down the steps, opened the
window and disappeared. No man could move more noiselessly than he.
In the still night he knew how the slightest sounds are magnified. He
had made none as he groped his way through the back of the house,
arriving at last in a room which he judged to be the library. Then, after
listening and hearing nothing, he ventured to turn the button of a side
light in a far corner of the room.
He was in a large apartment, beautifully furnished. Books and pictures
abounded, but these did not interest him, although if he had made
further examination he might have found things worthy of his attention
even there. It so happened that the light bracket to which he had
blundered, or had been led, was immediately over a large wall safe.
Evidently it had been placed there for the purpose of illuminating the
safe door. His eyes told him that instantly. This was greater fortune
than he expected. A wall safe in a house like that must contain things of
value.
Marking the position of the combination knob, he turned out the light
and waited again. The quiet of the night continued unbroken. A swift
inspection convinced him that the lock was only an ordinary

combination. With proper--or improper--tools he could have opened it
easily. Even without tools, such were his delicately trained ear and his
wonderfully trained fingers that he thought he could feel and hear the
combination. He knelt down by the knob and began to turn it slowly,
listening and feeling for the fall of the tumblers. Several times he
almost got it, only to fail at the end, but by repeated trials and
unexampled patience, his heart beating like a trip-hammer the while, he
finally mastered the combination and opened the safe door.
In his excitement when he felt the door move he swung it outward
sharply. It had not been used for some time evidently and the hinges
creaked. He checked the door and listened again. Was he to be balked
after so much success? He was greatly relieved at the absence of sound.
It was quite dark in the room. He could see nothing but the safe. He
reached his hand in and discovered it was filled with bulky articles
covered with some kind of cloth, silver evidently.
He decided that he must have a look and again he switched on the light.
Yes, his surmise had been correct. The safe was filled with silver.
There was a small steel drawer in the middle of it. He had a broad
bladed jack-knife in his pocket and at the risk of snapping the blade he
forced the lock and drew out the drawer. It was filled with papers. He
lifted the first one and stood staring at it in astonishment, for it was an
envelope which bore his name, written by a hand which had