Nine Short Stories | Page 4

No. In that case he would
simply beat it. He would drop a kiss on her soft brown hair and make
his escape. He did? in fact, bend over the pillow and deposit an

extremely clumsy kiss on a lock of her hair, probably in order to have
that much done and over with.
He turned away, for he felt one of the tears already halfway to his eye.
A shiny something on the dressing table caught his attention and he
moved across to inspect it. It was a tiny gold wristwatch with enameled
rim. He picked it up and looked at the name of the maker, and his eyes
widened with respect.
Expensive trinket, that. Absurd to trust a child with it. No doubt she
was very proud of the thing. He put it down again, spared even the
impulse to put it in his pocket. He knew it would be useless to debate
the matter with himself. What burglar would take anything from a
sweet helpless child like--
"Hands up!"
The words came from behind him. They were uttered in a thin treble
voice, as crisp and oommanding as the snap of a whip. Bill wheeled
like lightning and stood petrified.
The sweet helpless child was sitting up straight in bed, and in her
extended hand was a mean-looking little revolver, with the muzzle
directed unerringly one inch above the apex of Bill's heart.
"Lord above us!" ejaculated our hero, as his jaw dropped open in
astonishment.
There was a short silence. The burglar's attitude of stupefaction became
less pronounced, and his jaw came up again ta take part in an amused
grin as he relaxed, but the steady brown eyes facing him were
unwavering in their direct and businesslike gaze.
"I would advise you to put your hands up before I count ten," said the
sweet, helpless child calmly. "One, two, three--"
"Really, now," Bill put in hastily, "I wouldn't advise you to shoot, little
girl. You might scare someone. I won't hurt you."

"I don't shoot to scare people. I see you don't take me seriously. It may
interest you to know that yesterday at the gallery at Miss Vanderhoof's
Academy I got nine straight centers from the hip. I am much better with
the eye. I am Major Wentworth of Squadron A of the Girls' Military
Auxiliary, and I am the crack shot of our regiment. Four, five, six--"
Bill was speechless. He calculated the distance to the bed. Easily ten
feet. That revolver barrel was certainly aimed level. Nine straight
centers from the hip, and much better with the eye. Coldish business.
He hesitated. The brown eyes held his steadily.
"Seven, eight, nine--"
His keen eye saw the muscles of the little wrist begin to tighten. Up
went his hands above his head.
"That's better," said the sweet, helpless child approvingly. "I would
have pulled the trigger in another half second. I had decided to get you
in the right shoulder. Now turn your back, please, but keep your hands
up."
Bill did so. Almost immediately came the command to turn about again.
She had clambered out of bed and stood there on the rug with her pink
nightgown trailing about her feet and her soft brown hair tumbling over
her shoulders. She looked more tiny than ever. But the muzzle of the
revolver wavered not a fraction of an inch as she stepped sidewise to
the wall and pressed her finger against a button there. Nothing was said
while she repeated the operation three times. More silence.
"Look here, little girl," Bill began earnestly, "There's no use gettin'
your arm all tired with that toy gun. I ain't going to hurt you."
"You may call me Major Wentworth," was all the reply he got.
"All right, major. But come, what's the use--"
"Stop! If you move again like that I'll shoot. I wonder what's the matter
with Hilda. She sleeps very lightly." This last to herself.

Bill looked interested.
"Is Hilda a big sort of a woman in a blue nightgown?"
"Yes. Hawe you seen her7" The brown eyes filled with sudden alarm.
"Oh! Where is she? Is she hurt?"
"Nope." Bill chuckled. "Kitchen floor. Chloroform. I was eatin'
strawberry shortcake when she come in."
The major frowned.
"I suppose I must call my father. I hate to disturb him--"
"He's incapable, too," announced Bill with another chuckle. "Tied up
with sheets and things. You see, major, we're all alone. Tell you what
I'll do. There's a suitcase full of silver down on the library window sill.
I'll agree to leave it there--"
"You certainly will," the major nodded. "And you'll leave the other
things too. I see them in your pockets. Since my father is tied up I
suppose I must call the police myself."