The Definite Object Part 5

"Ah, don't shoot, mister!" he gasped. "Oh, don't shoot--I got me hands up!"

"Stand up!" said Ravenslee grimly, "up with you and shutter that window--you may have friends outside, and I'm taking no chances!

Quick--shutter that window, I say."

The lad struggled to his feet and, crossing to the window, fumbled the shutter into place, his ghastly face turning and turning toward the revolver that glittered in such deadly fas.h.i.+on in Mr. Ravenslee's steady hand. At length, the shutters barred, the boy turned, and moistening dry lips, spoke hoa.r.s.ely and with apparent effort.

"Oh, mister--don't go for to--croak a guy as--as ain't done nothing!"

"You broke into my house!"

"But I--haven't took nothin'!"

"Because I happened to catch you!"

"But--but--oh, sir," stammered the boy, taking off his cap and fumbling with it while he stared wide-eyed at the threatening revolver, "I--I ain't a real thief--cross me heart and hope to die, I ain't! Don't croak me, sir!"

"But why in the world not?" enquired Mr. Ravenslee. "Alone and unaided I have captured a desperate criminal, a bloodthirsty villain--caught him in the very act of burgling a cabinet where I keep my cigars of price--and Mr. Brimberly's, of course! Consequently to--er--croak you is my privilege as a citizen; it's all quite just and proper--really, I ought to croak you, you know."

"I--ain't desprit, mister," the boy pleaded, "I ain't a reg'lar crook; dis is me first try-out--honest it is!"

"But then I prefer to regard you as a deep-dyed desperado--you must be quite--er--sixteen! Consequently it is my duty to croak you on the spot, or hand you over to the police--"

"No, no!" cried the boy, his tremulous hands reached out in a pa.s.sion of supplication, "not d' cops--don't let th' p'lice get me. Oh, I never took nothin' from n.o.body--lemme go! Be a sport and let me beat it, please, sir!"

All Mr. Ravenslee's chronic languor seemed to have returned as, leaning back in the deep-cus.h.i.+oned chair, he regarded this youthful malefactor with sleepy eyes, yet eyes that missed nothing of the boy's quivering earnestness as he continued, breathlessly:

"Oh, I ain't a real crook, I never done nothin' like this before, an'

I never will again if--if you'll only let me chase meself--"

"And now," sighed Mr. Ravenslee, "I'll trouble you for the 'phone, yonder."

"Are ye goin' to--call in de cops?"

"That is my intention. Give me the 'phone."

"No!" cried the boy, and springing before the telephone he stood there, trembling but defiant.

"Give me that telephone!"

"Not much I won't!"

"Then of course I must shoot you!"

The boy stood with head up-flung and fists tight-clenched; Mr. Ravenslee lounged in his chair with levelled pistol. So they fronted each other--but, all at once, with a sound between a choke and a groan, the lad covered his face.

"Go on!" he whispered hoa.r.s.ely, "go on--what's keepin' you? If it's the cops or croaking, I--I'd rather croak."

"Why?"

"'Cause if I was ever sent to--prison--it 'ud break her heart, I guess."

"Her heart?" said Mr. Ravenslee, and lowered the pistol.

"Me sister's."

"Ah--so you have a sister?" and Mr. Ravenslee sat up suddenly.

"Lots o' guys has, but there ain't a sister like mine in all N'

York--nor nowheres else."

"Who are you? What's your name?"

"Spike. Me real name's Arthur, but Arthur sounds kinder soft an' sissy; n.o.body don't call me Arthur 'cept her, an' I don't mind her."

"And what's her name?"

"Hermy--Hermione, sir."

"Hermione--why, that's Greek! It's a very beautiful name!"

"Kind of fits her too!" nodded Spike, warming to his theme. "Hermy's ace-high on the face and figure question! Why, there ain't a swell dame on Fift' Av'ner, nor nowheres else, got anything on Hermy as a looker!"

"And what of your father and mother?"

"Ain't got none--don't remember having none--don't want none; Hermy's good 'nuff for me."

"Good to you, is she?" enquired Mr. Ravenslee.

"Good t' me!" cried Spike, "good? Well, say--when I think about it I--I gets watery in me lamps, kinder sloppy in me talk, an' all mushy inside!

Good t' me? Well, you can just bet on that!"

"And," enquired Mr. Ravenslee sleepily, "are you as good to her?"

Hereupon Spike turned his cap inside out and looked at it thoughtfully.

"I--I dunno, mister."

"Ah! perhaps you--make her cry, sometimes?"

Hereupon Spike began to pick at the lining of his cap and finally answered: "Sometimes, I guess."

"Would she cry if she could see you now, I wonder?"

Hereupon Spike began to wring and twist his cap in nervous hands ere he answered: "I--I guess she might, perhaps."

"She must love you a good deal."

At this, Spike twisted his cap into a ball but spoke nothing; seeing which Mr. Ravenslee proceeded.