The Burglar and the Blizzard: A Christmas Story | Page 6

spoke.
"Oh, what the devil!" he said mildly; "I can't stand here with my hands over my head all night."
"You'll stand there," replied Geoffrey with some temper, "until I'm ready for you to move."
"And when will that be?"
"When this fool of a Central answers."
"Oh, not as long as that, I hope," said the burglar, "because, to tell the truth, I always cut the telephone wires before I enter a house."
There was a pause in which it was well Geoffrey did not see the artless smile of satisfaction which wreathed the burglar's face. At length Geoffrey said:
"In that case you might as well sit down, for we seem likely to stay here until morning." He calculated that by that time, Mrs. McFarlane, alarmed at his absence, would send some one to look for him,--some one who could be used as a messenger to fetch the constable.
To this suggestion the burglar appeared to acquiesce, for he sank at once into an armchair--an armchair toward which Holland himself was making his way, knowing it to be the most comfortable for an all-night session. Feeling the absurdity of making any point of the matter, however, he contented himself with the sofa.
"Take off your mask," he said as he sat down.
"So I will, thank you," said the burglar as if he had been asked to remove his hat, and with his left hand he slipped it off. The face that met Geoffrey's interested gaze was thin, yet ruddy, and tanned by exposure so that his very light brilliant eyes flared oddly in so dark a surrounding. Above, his sandy hair, which had receded somewhat from his forehead, curled up from his temples like a baby's. His upper lip was long and with a pleasant mouth gave his face an expression of humour. His hands were ugly, but small.
They sat for some time without moving, the burglar engaged in bandaging the cut on his right hand with obvious indifference to Holland's presence, Geoffrey meanwhile studying him carefully. The process of bandaging over, the man reached out his hand toward the bookcase and, selecting a volume of Sterne, settled back comfortably in his chair. Holland stared at him an instant in wonder, and then attempted to follow his example. But his attention to his book was much less concentrated than that of his captive, whose expression soon showed him to be completely absorbed.
They must have sat thus for an hour, before the burglar began to show signs of restlessness. He asked if it were still snowing, and looked distinctly disturbed on being told it was. At last he broke the silence again.
"You don't remember me, do you?" he said.
Geoffrey slowly raised his eyes without moving--his revolver was drooping in his right hand. He ran his mind over his criminal acquaintance unsuccessfully, and repeated:
"Remember you?"
"Yes, we were at school together for a time."
Geoffrey stared, and then exclaimed spontaneously:
"You used to be able to wag your ears."
"Can still."
"Why, you are Skinny McVay."
The man nodded. Neither was without a sense of humour, and yet saw nothing comic in these untender reminiscences.
"I remember the masters all hated you," said Geoffrey, "but you were straight enough then, weren't you?"
Again the man nodded. "I took to this sort of thing a month or so ago."
After a moment Geoffrey said:
"Did not I hear you were in the navy?"
"No," said McVay. "I was at Annapolis for a few months. I had an idea I should like the navy, but Heavens above! I could not stand the Academy. They threw me out. It seems I had broken every rule they had ever made. It was worse than State's prison."
"Are you in a position to judge?" asked Geoffrey coolly.
"No," said McVay, as if he nevertheless had information on the subject.
"Well, you will be soon," said Holland, not sorry for an opportunity to point out that his heart was not softened by recollections of his school days. But McVay appeared to ignore this intimation.
"Yes," he said ruminatively; "I've done a lot of things in my time."
"Well, I don't want to hear about them," said Geoffrey, who had no intention of being drawn into an intimate interchange. The burglar looked more surprised than angered at this shortness, and only said:
"Would you have any objection to my putting a match to that fire?"
"No," said Geoffrey, and McVay, with wonderful dexterity, managed to start a cheering blaze with his left hand.
For a few minutes Geoffrey's determined attention to his book discouraged his companion, but presently rapping the pages of Tristram Shandy with the back of his hand, he exclaimed:
"Sterne! Ah, there was a man! Something of my own type, too, it sometimes strikes me. Capable, you know, really a genius, but so unfortunately different from other people. Ordinary standards meant nothing to him--too original--sees life from another standpoint, entirely. That's me! I--"
"Sit