Nine Short Stories | Page 5

She began to move sidewise toward the silver telephone on the desk,
keeping the revolver pointed at Bill's breast.
I transcribe Bill's thought: the little devil was actually going to call the
police! Action must come now if at all, and quickly. He dismissed the
idea of a dash for freedom; she would certainly pull the trigger, and she
had a firm eye and hand. Bill summoned all his wit.
"My little girl's mama is dead, too," he blurted out suddenly.
The major, with her hand outstretched for the telephone, stopped to
look at him.
"My mother isn't dead," she observed sharply. "She's gone to the
country."

"You don't say so!" Bill's voice was positively explosive with
enthusiastic interest. "Why didn't you go along, major, if I may ask?"
"I am too busy with the Auxiliary. We are pushing the campaign for
preparedness." She added politely: "You say your wife is dead?"
Bill nodded mournfully.
"Been dead three years. Got sick and wasted away and died. Broke my
little girl's heart, and mine, too."
A suggestion of sympathy appeared in the major's eyes as she inquired:
"What is your little girl's name7"
"Her name?" Bill floundered in his stupidity. "Oh, her name. Why, of
course her name's Hilda--"
"Indeed!" The major looked interested. "The same as cook. How funny!
How old is she?"
"Sixteen," said Bill rather desperately.
"Oh, she's a big girl, then! I suppose she goes to school?"
Bill nodded.
"Which one?"
It was a mean question. In Bill's mind school was simply school. He
tried to think of a word that would sound like the name of one, but
nothing came.
"Day school," he said at last, and then added hastily, "that is, she moves
around, you know. Going up all the time. She's a smart girl." His tone
was triumphant.
Then, fearing that another question might finish him, he continued
slowly:

"You might as well go on and call the cops--the police, I suppose. Of
course, Hilda's at home hungry, but that don't matter to you. Shetll
starve to death. I didn't tell you she's sick. She's sick all the
time--something wrong with her. I was just walkin' past here and
thought I might find something for her to eat, and I was lookin'
around--"
"You ate the strawberry shortcake yourself," put in the major keenly.
"The doctor won't let Hilda have cake," Bill retorted. "And I was
hungry myself. I suppose it's no crime to be hungry--"
"You took the silver and other things."
"I know." Bill's head drooped dejectedly. "I'm a bad man, I guess. I
wanted to buy nice things for Hilda. She hasn't had a doll for over ten
years. She never has much to eat. If I'm arrested I suppose she'll starve
to death."
The sympathy in the major's eyes deepened. "I don't want to cause
unnecessary suffering," she declared. "I feel strongly for the lower
classes. And Miss Vanderhoof says that our penal system is disgraceful.
I suppose little would be gained by sending you to prison."
"It's an awful place," Bill declared feelingly.
"You have been there?"
"Off and on."
"You see! It has done you no good. No, I might as well let you go. Turn
your back."
Bill stared.
The major stamped her little bare foot.
"Turn your back, I say! That's right. I do wish you wouldn't make me
repeat things. Walk forward near the dressing table. No, at the side. So.

Now empty your pockets and turn them inside out. All of them. Put the
things on the dressing table. Keep your back turned, or--as you would
say in your vulgar parlance--I'll blow your block off."
Bill obeyed. He could feel the muzzle of the revolver pointed directly at
the back of his head, and he obeyed. He lost no time about it either, for
the anesthetized Hilda would be coming to soon.
Methodically and thoroughly the pockets were emptied and their
contents deposited on the dressing table: a gentleman's watch, two
silver cigarette cases, three scarf pins, five rings, a jeweled photograph
frame, and ninety-four dollars in cash. The articles that were obviously
Bill's own she instructed him to return to the pockets. He did so.
"There!" said the major briskly when he had finished. "You may turn
now. That's all, I think. Kindly close the front door as you go out. I'll
attend to the suitcase on the window sill after you're gone. I wouldn't
advise you to try any tricks on me. I've never got a man on the run, but
I'd love to have a crack at one. That's all."
Bill hesitated. His eye was on the neat roll of bills reposing beside him
on the dressing table. It traveled from that to the gold wristwatch he
would not take because it belonged to