University of Virginia Library

18. CHAPTER XVIII.
BOB SHAW AT HOME.

Mr. Gray understood that war was declared.
The other party had nothing to gain by the
apse of time. The case hurried into court
would certainly go in their favor. The statement
of Mliss, which Mr. Gray implicitly believed,
would hardly be accorded sufficient weight
to invalidate the natural right of a parent to
the guardianship of her child.

There were two courses of investigation open
for him to pursue. One was to trace Smith back
to the date of Mliss's birth and ascertain by living
witnesses, if possible, whether the mother of
Mliss had died, or had separated from Mr.
Smith. If it could be proved conclusively that
the mother of Mliss had died, of course Mrs.
Smith could not be her mother.

If it should appear that the mother of Mliss
had not died, it might be proved by persons who
had known the mother, that Mrs. Smith was
or was not her mother.

This would take time, but it was possible of
accomplishment.

The other course was to trace Mrs. Smith's
life back to the period when Mliss was born.
This would take time, but was likewise possible
of accomplishment.

Mr. Shaw entered heart and soul into the case.
His advice was invaluable. He was well acquainted
with the secret means by which such
investigations are pursued, and with detectives most
celebrated for skill and fidelity.

A paper was prepared petitioning the proper court
to enjoin the woman claiming to be the mother of
Mliss from exercising any of the rights of guardianship
over the person or property of Melissa Smith,
setting forth the ground upon which the petition was
asked. The court was also petitioned to enjoin the woman
claiming to be the widow of the late J. Smith from
appropriating any of the proceeds of the estates fo
her own use or benefit, excepting such sum as thr
court might allow for her maintenance until the question
of her right as widow was legally settled.

`The principal witnesses for the petitioners were Mr.
Gray and Bill Green, the driver of the Wingdam stage,
who had been summoned to the city by Mr. Gray.
The court ordered Mliss to be produced, and questioned
her privately. The impression she produced
was so favorable that her statement was taken under
oath.

Mrs. Smith testified in effect as follows:

“Was born in London, England, in 1833. Arrived
in San Francisco in June, 1851. Had worked in a
milliner store and had been attached to a theatrical
company under an assumed name. Was married to
John Smith, the father of Melissa Smith, in Stockton,
in April, 1852. Melissa Smith was born in May, 1853.
About a year after the birth Melissa, witness and Smith
quarreled. Witness left Smith and had never lived
with him since. Heard the report of his striking a
rich quartz vein in Red Mountain. Heard afterward
that he became dissipated, and finally that he had
committed suicide. Soon after, witness went up to
Red Mountain to see the child, and learned that Smith
had died possessed of a very rich claim. The right of
witness and Mliss to the claim had been confirmed by

the District Court for the Red Mountain precinct and
she had been placed in possession. The claim had
since been sold for sixty thousand dollars to a company
from San Francisco. The proceeds had been invested
in her own name for the joint benefit of herself
and Mliss.”

The testimony of the woman was thus far in her
favor. When called upon to account for her investments
she hesitated, and finally admitted that she had
acted under the advice of a male friend, who was at
that time absent from the city. She could not tell where
the money was invested, but understood it was in land
in the southern part of the city. She had a bank account
in her own name at the Bank of California.
Her failure to account for the use she had made of the
large sum she had received proved fatal. The court held
that the rights of the minor heir were in jeopardy,
and answered the prayer of the petitioners by granting
a temporary injunction, restricting the respondent to
the use of the sum of two hundred dollars a month
until such time as a final hearing should be had, for
bidding her in the meantime from making any conveyance
of any portion of the property in question,
or receiving any moneys for conveyances already
made. The court, after consuitation with the child
and the friends of the child, would appoint a temporary
guardian to act until the main petition of the
petitioners as to the fact of respondent being the
mother of Mliss and widow of the late J. Smith, should
be adjudicated.

The decision was a victory for the petitioners. Mliss
was free from the control of her mother, and her fortune
was under the protection of the law. The main
question—as to the fact of the woman known as Mrs.
Smith being the widow of the late J. Smith—was still
to be decided. Mr. Gray was appointed temporary
guardian empowered to inquire into the disposal of
the moneys Mrs. Smith had received.

These proceedings had occupied about ten days.
During this time Mr. Gray had not seen Mliss until he
met her in court. Acting under instructions from
Mr. Shaw, she had bowed to him, but had restrained
from any more fervent manifestations of affection.

But every day Mliss had sent to her legal adviser a
characteristic little note in which Miss Shaw figured
conspicuously. At first the jealous little creature was
chary of her praise, referring to Miss Shaw as his
“new Clytie,” but gradually, possibly because satisfied
that Miss Shaw and Mr. Gray did not meet, she became
more unreserved in her commendations of the
young lady, and finally as a great favor gave Mr. Gray
permission to come and see Miss Shaw. “But,” she
added, “you must promise to be good.”

Mr. Gray laid these missives in a private drawer, the
key of which he carried in his vest pocket. For the
first time perhaps the question occurred to him if this
childish affection which was so playfully exacting
might not become troublesome. He had never realized
that Mliss would ever grow up. As a child her oddities,
her impulsiveness, her quaint ways and queer talk,
had amused him. Her forlorn condition had inspired
his compassion. The manliness of his nature responded
to the he plessness of her youth and sex. When he
had heard boys taunt her with faults that were the
result of her neglected childhood, he always felt an
impulse to whip the boys and take the girl to his heart.
But this was not because Mliss was a girl, but because
she was at war with everybody, an isolated little heart
defiantly gnawing at its own vitals. When she had
thrown herself so passionately before him and exclaimed
that she hated everybody, that she hated herself,
that she wished she was dead, he had experienced
a strange sympathy for a nature so sensitive and a
condition so unhappy. No lover had watched the
threatening brow of his mistress more anxiously than
he had looked at this child's face for a sign of growing
contentment and peace. But he had not thought of her
as a woman. It was a pity nature was not so organized
that girls should never complete their twelfth year.

The hour had come when, the office freed from
business callers, Mr. Gray prepared for the morrow.
Tim embraced this opportunity to make flying trips
to neighboring offices, or to practice some new feat of
gymnastics with which to astonish his young companions
when opportunity should offer. He was very
adroitly balancing a long-handled dusting-brush on
the end of his nose, his eyes following the line of the
slender rod and keenly watching the sway of the
feathers, and was thorougly absorbed in the fascinating
occupation, when turning toward the door in a
quick movement by which he hoped to frustrate the
operation of the law of gravitation, he beheld fixed
upon him a pair of laughing eyes. The dusting-brush
slipped from Mr. Timothy Dwight's nose and
fell to the floor. The law of gravitation was victorious
at last.

“Tim,” said the lady to whom the laughing eyes belonged,
“when you give a public exhibition send me
fifty tickets. I'll make fifty friends buy one as an indirect,”
encouragement of art.”

“You needn't chaff a fellow, Miss Reginia,” replied
the lad; “you'd do it if you could.”

“Perhaps I would,” answered the lady, advancing.
“Let me try.”

“Better begin with something that isn't so top-heavy
said Tim, assuming the role of instructor.
“Here's a ruler; better rest it on your chin at first till
you get the balance of the thing.”

Miss Shaw forgot for a moment that she was a
young lady of eighteen, and entered heartily into the
sport. Her success was not brilliant. The ruler, attracted
perhaps by the pretty face, inclined toward it
as if disposed for an emorace.

The noise of the sport penetrated to Mr. Gray in the
adjoining room. Thinking that Tim was entertaining
some of his street companions with a gymnastic rehearsal,
he opened the door just in time to witness
Miss Shaw's fourth and partially successful attempt to
balance the ruler on her chin. Her side was toward
him, and with her head thrown a little back, one neatly
clad foot peeping from under the folds of her dress,
and one gloved hand raised to catch the ruler should
it fall, she formed a rather pretty picture.

Mr. Gray would have retired to his office, but Tim,
from habit, kept one eye on the office door, and he
whispered to his fair pupil:

“Buttons! There's Mr. Gray.”

“Buttons” was not Tim's favorite expletive, but it
was one which he had been induced to adopt by
stratagem. His mother, a pious widow lady, had
been one day terribly shocked by hearing from the
lips of her darling boy a shorter and more emphatic

expletive which is classed among the words profane.
She remonstrated, but as Tim grew older the profane
expletive was the more frequently resorted to, especially
when Tim was under any great stress of feeling.
Tim's mother suggested “buttons” as a substitute,
but Tim did not readily fall into her idea. After
much prayerful consideration, assisted by her pastor,
the lady hit upon a plan. Tim was extremely anxious
to possess a gold watch and a gold chain. On his
fourteenth birthday his desire was gratified. The
watch was in his fob and the chain dangling from the
second button-hole in his vest. He wore it grandly
for an hour, when some little ebullition of feeling
caused him to utter the forbidden word. To Tim's
great mortification the watch and chain were taken
from him and carefully laid in his mother's bureau
drawer. The lady then very firmly laid down a law
not to be found in the Revised Statutes. On every
occasion when Tim uttered the forbidden word he was
to be deprived of his watch and chain for a week. To
his remonstrance that a “fellow couldn't always think,”
the excellent lady again suggested “buttons.” It
was a harmless word, yet it would answer every
purpose for which the more sinful expletive was employed.
After this Tim wore his watch the greater
part of the time. Occasionally for a week it would
need repairs, but in time either Tim or Tim's watch
less frequently got out of order.

Miss Shaw had heard from Tim's mother the affecting
story of Tim's reformation, and knew for what
word “buttons” was a substitute. As a prelude to an
announcement of the appearance of Mr. Gray it was
so ludicrous that she could not restrain an impulse to
augh.

“I beg pardon, Mr. Gray, I did not intend to disturb
you. Or rather,” she added, “I did intend to
disturb you. I have not come to see Mr. Shaw this
time.”

She looked dangerously pretty as she turned toward
him, the color mounting to her cheek, her eyes dancing
with merriment. Mr. Gray took her offered hand,
and led her into his office.

“Papa says,” she continued, giving a glance from
the corner of her eyes, “that you only talk to ladies on
business. Is it so?”

“I suppose all rules have their exceptions,” he replied.

“Yes, I suspect so.”

“Perhaps it is better not to make rules to apply to
young ladies.”

“It saves breaking them,” she rejoined demurely.

The idea that his visitor was exceedingly pretty was
already established in Mr. Gray's mind. The idea was
also dawning upon his mind that she was disposed to
be friendly to himself. He could not at that moment
give any good reason why her advances should be repulsed.
Mingled with a sentiment of admiration
awakened by her beauty and deepened by her kindness
to Mliss, was a sentiment of compassion. Unconscious,
as she supposed to herself, she was threatened
with serious misfortune. He could not shut his
eyes to the fact that Mr. Shaw was failing in health,
and at Mr. Shaw's death his family would be left
without the slightest provision for the future. This
young girl, so radiant in prosperity, did not seem
particularly well adapted to adversity.

Some such thoughts as these passed through his
mind as she sat there idly talking, and under their influence
his reserve gradually melted. From ordinary
social topics they passed on to others of a more confidential
nature. He found that she too had been looking
into the future and its darkness troubled her. A
slight indisposition of Mr. Shaw had given the family
physician an opportunity to intimate that Mr. Shaw
could not long continue his present course of life. The
physician had gone so far as to say that Mr. Shaw's
health was rapidly breaking up under the influence of
excessive stimulants. The toning up process had
been carried too far. The young girl loved her father
devotedly. She loved him the more deeply as she
found it impossible to love her only brother as she
wanted to love him. And that brother was going
from bad to worse. He had not been at home in ten
days, but twice in that time had been arrested for
fighting, and saved from prison only by the payment
of a fine.

Miss Shaw probably did not intend to touch on these
topics when she entered the office. She had found
sympathy when she was expecting only cold manifestations
of respect. The change coming at a time
when she felt so keenly the need of a strong arm to
lean on surprised her into confidence she herself wondered
at afterward.

The early November evening had set in meantime.
Mr. Gray had dismissed Tim, who for once had not
dismissed himself, and lighted the gas. Miss Shaw
looked at her watch.

“Why,” she exclaimed, with a look of surprise in
her hazel eyes, “I have been here almost two hours.”

The fact could not be denied. Mr. Gray's watch
told the same scandalous story. Miss Shaw, however,
contented herself with the statement and remained
half an hour longer. At last she rose to go. Mr.
Gray, of course, claimed the privilege of seeing her
home. Miss Shaw was sorry to give him so much
trouble, but accepted. She drew on her gloves, wrapped
her shawl around her and waited for him to put
away his papers. By a fortunate chance she first
passed out of the inner office and turned in the dimmer
light to wait. He joined her in a moment and
placed his hand on the knob of the hall door to open
it.

The knob turned, but the door did not open. Examination
showed that the door had been locked and
the key taken away.

“What does this mean;” asked the lady in surprise.
“Tim would not dare to play us such a trick.”

“It isn't Tim,” answered Mr. Gray, in a whisper.
“Come back, quick,”

Miss Shaw yielded to his arm, and returned to the
nner office. She observed now that her companion
was pale, and his voice, as he attempted to reassure
her, was not as firm as usual. Mr. Gray closed the
door and bolted it, the lady looking on in silent wonderment.

Such of our readers as have passed ten days expecting
at any moment to see a desperate enemy spring
from ambush with deadly intent, will understand the
impulse under which Mr. Gray acted. His residence
in communities where human life is held in little
value when opposed to human ambitions had awakened
a sense of danger another might not have thought

of. Miss Shaw did not understand how the door
should close and lock itself, and the key walk away,
but the only emotion she experienced was surprise.
Mr. Gray, however, looked instinctively for a cause.
That cause in his mind was Waters. Waters had in
his belief killed two men that he might enjoy the
wealth discovered in Smith's pocket. A third man
now threatened to deprive him of the riches he had
sinned to gain. That third man was himself. Would
the third man be allowed to escape, at least without an
effort to serve him as the others had been served?

Mr. Gray was so firm in the opinion that the third
man would not be allowed to escape without a struggle,
that he had resolved to kill Waters at the first hostile
movement. He had looked for him everywhere, in the
street, in the court-room, and in his hotel. Might not
Waters conceal himself in the office under cover of
night, to get the first shot. The first shot with such
men is everything.

Mr. Gray had hurried Miss Shaw back under the
impulse of this apprehension. He was a little surprised
at not receiving the salute of his enemy before
he could close the door. The opportunity was too
good to be lost. He stood in the light while his adversary,
if there was one, was in the darkness. The
Presence of Mliss Shaw might have deterred an aim
already raised, and then his fears might be groundless.
But what was to be done? Miss Shaw was waiting to
go home. She was looking at him as if she did not
quite understand why she was shut into that office
alone with a young man. It is true she had sat there
very contentedly while the road was open to go when
she pleased, but the fact that it was open made all the
difference in the world.

“What do you think, Mr. Gray? Who locked that
door?”

“I think,” be replied, “that some person is concealed
in the next room.”

Miss Shaw turned a little pale.

“Some person,” she repeated. “Are you armed?”

“Yes; of late I always go armed. But I cannot
afford to give this person the advantage of a light.
Will you be afraid if I turn off the gas?”

Miss Shaw said “No,” but when the gas was turned
off she clung to her companion's arm. Mr. Gray led
her to a seat out of the range of bullets fired through
the door, drew his pistol and reconnoitered.

There was no sound to indicate the presence of
friend or enemy. A deep twilight pervaded the outer
office, but he could discern the outlines of the large
table and chairs. These might afford a shelter from
which a tolerably safe attack could be made. But Mr.
Gray stood in a more impenetrable darkness. The
enemy, however, hearing the door open, might fire on
calculation, and make a fatal shot. Mr. Gray, therefore,
stepped quickly and noiselessly to one side, and
then, his pistol raised to take advantage of the firs
movement of his unseen foe, he waited.

Five minutes passed. Waiting became tedious, and
he began to reconnoiter. He came upon a chair, and
raised it before him as a shield. He groped about another
five minutes, and found no enemy. At last,
with his pistol in his right hand, he lighted a match,
and lit the gas. A glance showed the room to be vacant,
and a second glance revealed the outer door ajar.

Miss Shaw now come to the door, and both saw that
the hall-door was open. Both knew it had been closed
and locked. The conclusion was inevitable that some
person had been in the outer office, and for some reason
made his escape while they were in the inner
office.

“Some burglar,” said Mr. Gray, “whose heart
softened at sight of you.”

“Then you owe me your life,” replied the lady,
trying to smile. “But how do we know he will not
come again?”

“Burglars seldom make a second attempt. The
first serves as a kind of warning, and preparations
are made to receive them.”

“You must take care of yourself, Mr. Gray,” she
rejoined, with some tenderness in her tone. “There
are two or three who could hardly live without you.

“Two or three! So many!”

“So many that I know of. And I don't count Miss
Clytie,” she added, laughing.

“Has Mliss been telling tales out of school?”

“She has been telling tales about school. I wonder
you ever tore yourself away from Red Mountain.”

“It must have been my good angel that tore me
away.”

“I am sure it was our good fortune,” she responded,
linking her arm in his.

Mr. Gray looked down upon the still pale but tender
face, and asking himself if she was playing a part. If
she was, the part was pretty well played.

A search failed to find the key to the hall-door. The
intruder, whoever he might be, evidently intended to
come again.

He closed the door, and with his companion on his
arm passed out into the street.

“Let us say nothing of this little incident,” he said;
“we might be laughed at.”

“You do not doubt that some person was in the office?”

“I have had no experience with doors that close and
lock themselves, nor with keys that run away. Still it
may be a trick.”

“Perhaps it was the spirits. They do some wonderful
things if half that is said of them is true.”

“We will change it to them. At all events, the spirits
cannot prove an alibi.”

“Do you believe there is another life after this?”

“If there is not it is hardly worth while to endure
this.”

“Do you think so? Now, I find life very pleasant.”

“I hope you always may.”

“People who have some one to love seldom are weary
of life.”

And people who do not love have no right to
live.”

A walk of fifteen minutes brought them to Miss
Shaw's handsome residence on Ellis street. Mr. Gray
had business at his office, but he was not stoic enough
to decline Miss Shaw's invitation to dine.

Mr. Shaw was lying down more indisposed than
usual, but Mr. Shaw received him graciously. As soon
as she could, Reginia led him to the sitting-room
where Mliss was waiting to receive him.

“I give you five minutes,” whispered his conductor,
and she withdrew.

Mliss came forward with her old impetuousity and
threw herself into his arms. She laid her warm cheek
to his, drew back and looked at him, then gave him a
swift little kiss.

“Wasn't I good to let her go for you?” she asked.

“Do you like her, Lissy?”

“I do now. She is as good as she can he. Do you
like her?”

“I have talked with her to-day for the second time.”

“How odd! And you're been here so long.”

“Miss Shaw has a great many friends and admirers.
She has not time to waste on me.”

Mr. Gray now saw Mliss for the first time in an attire
suitable to her years and her complexion. Miss
Shaw, if disposed to be a rival, was no mean one. The
child's splendid black hair was crimped and flowing
below her waist, and a crimson band around her head
lent color and warmth to her face. Her dress, longer
than she had ever worn before, and cut with sufficient
regard to the prevailing style, gave her little figure a
more womanly shape and contour. She was far prettier
than she had seemed before, but somehow the
old, quaint, elfish little Mliss he had so loved, existed
only in memory.

“Do you like me as I am,” she asked, with some
solicitude in her eyes, for the child was quick to read
thoughts in the changing lines of the face.

“I like you always, Lissy, but I was thinking of the
little girl who came into my schoolroom two years
ago, and wanted to be teached. Where is she,
Lissy?”

“Her heart is here, and that is all that was good in
her. Would you have me bad again?”

“No, Lissy, I would have you as you are. But the
old Mliss, with all her badness, was dear to me.”

Miss Shaw soon returned, and summoned her guests
to the dining-room. Mliss's right to her guardian was
recognized in the arrangement of seats, and during
dinner Miss Shaw adroitly led the conversation to
topics in which Mliss could join.

The dinner was but half over when an impatient
ring at the door-bell caused a painful flush to overspread
Reginia's face. A moment later a heavy step
was heard in the hall, and Bob Shaw, the hero of the
Free and Easy picnic, burst into the dining-room.

The young hoodlum carried his free and easy manners
wherever he went. He greeted Mr. Gray, whom
he had seen once before, with a ringing “Hello, old
boy, glad to see you,” then went up to his elegant sister,
seized her around the waist and kissed both
cheeks, with a heartiness that did infinite credit to his
brotherly character.

“Hello,” he exclaimed, catching a sight of Mliss;
“if here isn't our little runaway. Give us your fist,
little girl.”

Mliss, blushing to her eyes, extended her hand.
Bob shook it as if it had been a man's, and patted her
patronizingly on the shoulder.

“If I'd known you'd been here, little one, I wouldn't
have stayed away so long. So you found the Governor,
eh? and he put you through!”

“Don't tease Miss Smith, Robert,” said Miss Shaw.
“She is not used to your peculiar style.”

“You bet she is. She's one of us. Did not she give
Red-headed Dick a fiver to get beer with?”

Mliss had omitted this little episode in her narrative
of her adventures, and now Bob related it, embellishing
facts with a racy humor that forced even his
sister to laugh. Mr. Gray, a thorough man of the
world, fell easily into what Reginia called Robert's
peculiar style,” so that Bob found himself for once a
hero at his own father's table.

“Damn'd if this isn't jolly!” he exclaimed, as Mrs.
Shaw gave the signal to adjourn. “Sis, I'm coming
to board with you.”

“O, Robert!” expostulated Mrs. Shaw, whose ear
caught only the first word of the speech, “why will
you use such language?”

“Damn is a good word, mother. It is a Bible word.
Think I got it out of the Bible. Ain't sure. Had it a
long time.”

Mrs. Shaw would probably have explained to her
son the difference between the use of the word as
found in the Scripture, and the use he made of it, but
experience suggested a doubt of the utility of such an
explanation. She contented herself with a sigh, and
walked slowly out of the room with the air of a woman
who endeavored to bear her trials with a Christian
fortitude.

“How's the Governor, Regie,” asked Bob, taking his
sister aside.

“Papa is not well to-night.”

“Sorry. Got a little private business of an important
nature to tranfact. Won't keep.”

“I hope you are not going to ask him for money.”

“That's the ticket. Have not struck the old gent
for a week.”

“But, Robert, papa hasn't much money now.”

“Don't want much. Let him off with a five. Fact
is, Sis, two of the boys got into a scrimmage, and the
cops dropped down on them; one got away, but they
nabbed 'tother.”

“What will they do with him?”

“Send him below if he can't pay his fine.”

“But papa mustn't be disturbed to-night. The
doctor's afraid he's going to be sick.”

“Suppose you strike Mr. Gray. He'll give it to
you.”

“Not to save a thousand men from jail.”

“No? What notions you women have! I'd strike
him, but I'm damned if I believe he'd give it to me.”

“I don't think he would.”

“Seems an easy sort of fellow. Takes a joke. Got
a good laugh. Rather like him.”

The young rascal scanned Mr. Gray a moment as if
calculating his chance of striking him successfully,
but the doubt he had expressed was not dissipated by
a closer examination.

“Isn't so easy as he looks,” he whispered to his sister.
“Bet he can say no. Quiet cuss.”

“Robert, don't.”

“Well, Sis, I'll try not. Comes so deuced natural.
But what are we going to do about that five?”

“I'm afraid your friend will have to go below. It
won't hurt him much.”

“Damned tiresome. Tried it once.”

“Well, he should not fight.”

“Should not fight! Good Lord, how would you
have a fellow amuse himself.”

Reginia returned no answer to his question. At that

moment it occurred to her that her brother's propensity
for fighting might be utilized.

“Will you do something for me if I get five dollars,”
she asked.

“Anything in reason, Sis. Mustn't ask me to shake
Hattie Brooks.”

“You needn't shake Miss Brooks. She is as well as
another.”

“Fact. Hattie's a good girl.”

“I hope she is. But what I shall ask does not
cern her.”

“Peg away then. I'll do anything in reason.”

“Well,” said Reginia, “papa's office was entered
this evening by a burglar.”

“Burglar's a damned fool. Nothing there to steal.”

“Of course he is,” responded Reginia.

“Is what?” questioned the sinful brother.

“A — fool,” stammered the young girl, bridging
over the awful chasm with difficulty, and turning
very red in the effort.

“Don't swear, Sis. It isn't genteel.”

“Will you listen, Bob.”

“Go on, Reginia.”

Miss Shaw then told her brother what we at greater
length have told the reader.

“Think it's a burglar, Reginia?”

“What else should it be?”

“Isn't there a man mixed in the little one's case,” and
he looked towards Mliss, who was talking to Mr. Gray.

“A man? Yes, I believe so.”

“More likely to be him. Might want a private interview
with Mr. Gray. Witnesses in the way sometimes.”

This was a new aspect of the case, and one which
needed consideration.

“But Mr. Gray said it was a burglar,” urged Reginia.

“Mr. Gray couldn't know. Perhaps he thought so:
perhaps he did not. Wouldn't tell you.”

“But this makes it worse. If it was a burglar he'd
be content with what he could steal. If it's the
man—”

“Come to kill. Correct, Sis.”

“Miss Shaw turned paler than she had in the office
when she thought a burglar was lying in wait.

“Don't be frightened, Reginia. Rather like Mr.
Gray. Think he's got sand?”

“Got what?”

“Sand. Pluck. Won't scare worth a damn.”

“O!” said Miss Regie, thus enlightened.”

[We may add en parenthesis that Miss Reginia
Shaw's naturally quick mind received frequent stores
of knowledge of like character from her erratic
brother.]

“I'll fix him,” continued Bob, referring to the unknown
visitor. “He comes after business hours,
thinking to take Mr. Gray unawares. Well, I'll take
him unawares. Never killed a man yet.”

“But, Bob, be cautious.”

“Would you care much if I should get winged?”

“Of course I would. Aren't you my only brother?”
and her arms went round the young rascal's neck.

“Then you love me a little, Regie?”

“I love you a good deal, Bob, wicked as you are.”

“That's right, sis. Stick to your brother. Not
bad all through. Sober down sometime.”

“I hope so, Robert. If you'd only be what you
might be, I should love you dearly.”

“B'lieve you would, Regie. There's a little hoodlum
blood in you. Came honestly by it. Governor
was a rare old hoodlum in his young days.

The elegant Miss Shaw did not resent the imputation
of having hoodlum blood in her veins, but rather
redoubled her caresses of her handsome brother.

“Home's a rather nice place after all,” said Rob.
“Think I'll reform. By the way, isn't the little one
rather sweet on Mr. Gray?”

“She ought to be. He's been like a father to her.”

“Rather a young father. Perhaps she likes him
better for it. Go hard on her if he should be put out
of the way.”

“It would go hard on us, Robert. Papa could do
nothing without him.'

“Well, let him stick to business, and I'll do the
fighting. It is more in my line. A fellow ought to
be good for something. Wonder if Mr. Gray'd lend
me his pistol.”

“Where's yours, Bob?”

“Put it in soak the other day.”

“Put it in soak?”

“Yes, some pistols have to be put in soak every few
days. Depends upon who they belong to. Mine is in
soak full half of the time.”

“I don't understand. I should think they'd get
rusty.”

“Do sometimes, if we leave 'em in soak too long.
When I can't help it I go to a friend of mine on Kearny
street and tell him I want to soak my pistol. Friend
smiles, Likes that kind of business. Gives me ten
dollars to keep till I want to take the pistol out of
soak.”

A comical expression of mingled chagrin and merriment
came over Miss Shaw's face, and in a pet she
turned and walked away from her brother. Bob followed
her and put his arm round her waist.

“Don't get mad, Regie. I'll find a pistol somehow.
If you can find five dollars I won't bother you any
more to-night.”

Miss Shaw's porte-monnaie contained the required
sum, and she gave it to her brother.

“Come back and sleep here to-night, Bob,” she said
raising her eyes to his face with a wistful look.
“Somehow I feel as if something terrible was going
to happen.”

“I'll come if you want me to. I thought you liked
me best when I am away.”

“You know better, Bob. Kiss me now and come
right home.”

The better impulses of the young fellow's heart were
stirred, and he bent his handsome curly head, and
with infinite tenderness touched his sister's lips.

“Guess I'll break with that hoodlum crowd,” he
said to himself, as he closed the door behind him.
“Isn't one of the girls that can hold a candle to
Regie.”

Mr. Gray had observed this little scene from the corner
of his eye, and as Reginia joined him he took her
band and pressed it gently.

“I can't help loving him when he is with me,” she
said.

“Don't try, Miss Shaw. A sister's love has reformed
worse boys than he.”