Nine Short Stories | Page 3

Gurglings barely audible came from the victim's nose; our hero made a
threatening gesture, and they ceased. He proceeded calmly and
methodically to rifle the room and closet. When he finished ten minutes
later, he had deposited in various places about his person two silver
cigarette cases, three scarf pins, five rings, a jeweled photograph frame,
and ninety-four dollars in cash.
He looked to see that his captive was securely tied, scowled ferociously

into his face, tiptoed out of the room and closed the door behind him.
He had been in the house not more than thirty minutes, and already two
of the enemy had been rendered hors de combat, a bag of booty was
waiting for him below, his stomach was full, and his clothing was
loaded with money and jewelry. His chest swelled with pardonable
pride. On with the dance!
Inflated and emboIdened by success, he flashed his light impudently up
and down the hall, finally deciding on the next door to the right on the
opposite side. He advanced, noiselessly turned the knob and entered.
The light from the street lamp did not enter on this side, and the room
was pitch dark.
For a monnent he thought it unoccupied, then the sound of faint
breathing came to his ear--quite faint and regular. He took a step
toward the bed, then, magnificently scorning danger, turned to the wall
near the door and felt for the electric button. He pushed; a click, and the
room was flooded with light.
On the instant Bill sprang toward the bed, to forestall any outcry of
alarm from its occupant. But he halted three paces away, with his arms
half outstretched, at the sight that met his gaze.
There, under the silken coverlet, in the glare from the chandelier, he
saw a sleeping child.
It was a girl of eight or nine years; her little white arm was curved
under her head, and her soft brown hair spread in glorious curled
confusion over the pillow. Her breast moved regularly up and down
with her gentle breathing, and her sweet red lips were opened a little by
the smile of a dream.
Bill stood still and gazed at her. He felt all of a sudden big and dirty
and burly and clumsy and entirely out of place, and turning slowly to
glance about the room, he saw that it was well suited to its occupant.
There was a small dressing table, a chest of drawers, a writing desk,
and two or three chairs, all in dainty pink with delicately figured covers.

On one corner of the desk stood a silver telephone instrument. The wall
was pure white, with pink flowers and animals scattered in profusion
along the border. A low wide bookcase, with full shelves, stood at one
end. A pair of little white shoes were in the middle of the floor; on a
chair near by were the stockings and other garments.
Bill looked at them, and at the beautiful sleeping child, and at the
child's beautiful room, and he felt something rise in his chest. Slowly
his hand went to his head, and off came his cap.
"My little girl would have a place like this,'' he muttered half aloud.
The fact that Bill had no little girl or big one either, that he was indeed
quite unmarried, is no reason to suspect the sincerity of his emotion.
Some fathers might argue that it is in fact a reason to believe in it; but
we are interested only in what actually happened. Undoubtedly what
Bill meant was this, that if he had had a little girl of his own he would
have wanted for her such a room as this one.
He moved close to the bed and stood there looking down at its
occupant. What he was thinking was that he had never before realized
that a creature could be so utterly helpless without thereby incurring the
contempt of a strong man. There was something strangely stirring in
the thought. Perhaps after all physical force was not the only power
worth having. Here was this little child lying there utterly helpless
before him--utterly helpless, and yet in fact far more secure from injury
at his hands than a powerful man would have been.
No, force was not made to be used against helpless beings like her.
What would he do if she should awake and cry out? He would talk to
her and quiet her. According to the best burglar tradition, it would even
be allowable to take her on his knee, and if a tear or so appeared in his
eye it would be nothing to be ashamed of.
But what if she would not be quieted? What if in her fright she should
persist in spreading the alarm? Force, then?