The Gardendale Burglar Cure.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XLIV, Issue 1, 5 January 1910, Page 49

The Gardendale Burglar Cure.

By)

E.J. RATH.

With illustrations by Rose Cecil O’Neil,

the Fanshawes’ house was fl robbed, Gardendale simply 11 L, folded its hands and sighed. The Fanshawe domicile was equipped with all sorts of burglar-proof things—an electric alarm, mysterious window catches, a noisy dog, two pistols, one shotgun, a colicky baby and Mr Fun shawe’s insomnia. Yet, in spite of such model safeguards, the burglars made a very pretty job of it. Therefore, Gardendale was beyond the point of speech. Since the Burglar Age began the town potice had not captured a single housebreaker. The Citizens’ Protective Association and its two watchmen also had a zero score. The individual citizens, beyond firing stray shots, blowing whistles and tooting tin horns at unseasonable hours, were in the same state of impotence. Several of the men folks wore the distinction of having seen burglars, a few of having shot them, but nobody, except Mr. Melvor, ever claimed to have hit one, and he could not produce the target. The Park section of Gardendale contained a transplanted colony of eity folk who settled there because it was carefully restricted. You had to have so many feet of land to build on, your house must not have a flat roof* it must not be a tenement, a store or a two-family dwelling—in short, it had to comply with so many exact rules and prohibitions, that the Park was highly select and ostentatiously proud of itself. But it was not restricted against burglars. Since the coming of the first, nearly a year ago, Gardendale passed its nights in a state of excitement and suspense. “The Brace and Bit Gang” began it. They had a villainous way of boring a circle of holes around the lock on a: gentleman’s door and then removing the lock. Half a dozen front and back doors were neatly bored before the Brace and Bit Gang became compassionate and quit. A month had not elapsed before unpretentious yet effective jimmy wielders came to spend their evenings. They made a specialty of splirttering window sashes, and they were workmanlike about it. The second storey men who followed them occasioned less alarm, because they worked during the family dinner hour and did not give people horrors in the middle of the night. However, they prospered. They got less of' the Park’s silverware, but more of its jewellery. But the coming of the hold-up brigade was really a very serious matter. Three respected citizens, who had been detained in town until the last train were further detained on their walks from the railroad Station by insistent wayfarers. Gardendale’s failure to catch or annihilate a burglar was not due io lack of effort. At the first affair at Mr. Gatos’ house the men bought revolvers. When

they had demonstrated their inability to hie live targets at unknown on dark nights, they bought dogs. There was the small, noisy and cowardly dog; the alert and pugnacious dog; and the large, silent, and morose dog, each householder buying according to his fancy and judgment. Some of the dogs barked when their owners eaime home late and then slept the rest of the night. Mr. Britton’s bull terrier showed promise, ■because one dark night, as Mr. Britton set foot on has own porch, the dog quite unexpectedly began to ehew his leg. But Mr. Britton got his pistol and ungratefully shot “the only really good dog in ■the Park.” This seemed to discourage the other dogs, who thereafter gave their time to fighting among themselves, killing eats and rooting up flower beds. Electric burglar alarms, went off with and without burglars so impartially that after a while the Gardendale citizen would merely turn off the switch, cuss the gong and go back to bed. Mr. Fine:; invented a scheme of his own. The central idea was to welcome burglars with uncanny hospitality and disarm them through their own astonishment. At night he hung a sign on the front door: “Don’t use a brace and bit or a jimmy, the dining-room window is unlocked.” If they should venture inside after this, they would find little placards, telling where to seek booty and how to get it without damaging the furniture or waking the family. One morning Mr. Finch found that the front door hail been jimmied renrorselesslv, the drawers in the sideboards defaced, pictures eut out of their frames. Oriental rugs stained with some of the choicest claret, and everything in a general state of wreck. He couldn't understand it until he found this note on the dining-ro-oia. table: “Mi partner Bill done tins. Bill done the work while I staid on the walk and I dident come in til he bad it all packed up. Then I seen them sines and Ime sorry about the damage. Bill can’t reed or rite.” Tt was Mr. Hotchkiss who devised a brilliant plan to give Gardendale a reputation for thief killing—“uch a desperate name that no burglar would even venture within its precincts again. He wrote to the city papers a thrilling story of the killing of a burglar. He said when the burglars read that story they would let Gardendale alone. It was such a good story that the papers sent reporters out to Gardendale to work it yup, with pictures. The reporters wrote some fine -lories, but not the kind that Gardendale expected. Mr. Hotchkiss’ popularity fell so rapidly th.it it could be heard to wjiizz through the air, and some of the Park people changed their newspapers and talked about libel suits. It waa no wonder, therefore, when Mr. Fanshawe told the new® of his robbery

to his fellow members at the Greenlawn Golf Club that they fell into a state of despondency, “ What’s the use of trying to keep ’em out?" said Mr. Gates disgustedly. “Dogs, babies, watchmen, guns, alarms —they ain’t worth a hoorah, the lot of ’em.” “ I have an idea,” said Mr. Jackson, “ that we haven’t got the right kind of alarms.” “Hotchkiss had an idea, too,” growled Mr. Fanshawe, “ and it made asses out of us.” “ Now, you listen to my idea,” said Mr. Jackson. “I’ve been talking about it to Wilson, and he’s helped to work it out.” It was a long and earnest session that the elub held. Late in June Mrs. Wilson was away on a visit to her mother, and Mr. Wilson was living all by himself, and getting his meals at the elub. It was midnight when he awoke, ami was surprised to find a gas jet burning dimly. He was wondering sleepily about it. when a slight tinkle attracted his attention, and he twisted his head in the direction of the dresser. There was a man standing in front of it, his back turned toward the bed, and he seemed to be rummaging in the top drawer. Mr. Wilson regarded him quietly for a few seconds, and then his hand stole across the bed, under the spread, until it reached the edge, where it rested carelessly. The man continued to rummage for a minute longer, and then glanced toward the bed. Mr. Wilson smiled at him pleasantly, ami said: “ If you’ll just turn up the light you can see better.” The man uttered an exclamation, caught up a revolver from the top of the dresser and said sharply: “ You shut up and don’t wigg'e.” “ I promise not to wiggle,” said Mr. Wilson. The light was turned up cautiously, and the man still kept his pistol pointed toward the bed. “Have you found what you want?” asked Mr. Wilson. “ There is’nt much in the house, I’m sorry to say.” “ Oh, I’ve got a few things,” said the burglar in a puzzled.£ort of way. He was not a bad-looking young fellow, rather well dressed for a burglar, Mr. Wilson thought. , “ Aren’t you afraid to burgle around this place?” continued Mr. Wilson. “It’s considered a dangerous town for burglars.” The burg'ar laughed. “It is, hey ?” he said. “Why, it’s got the rep of being the easiest place around New York. But there ain’t much to it, if this house is a sample. I guess I’ve got all that’s worth taking here, so I’ll be going.” “ Don't be in a hurry,” said Mr. Wilson. “ I never go till I’m ready, mister, but I’m ready now,’’ said the burglar, making a step toward the door. “ You just slay tight under the covers for five minutes. Understand?” “ But I want to tell you about the burglar we caught here,” said Mr. Wilson. “ First I ever heard of it,” said the burglar, with a short laugh. “When was that?” " To-night,” said Mr. Wilson.

“ Who was he?” asked the burglar curiously. “ You,” said Mr. Wilson, smiling amiably. Again the burglar laughed. “ You’re a joking sort of a guy," he said. “Sorry I can't oblige you by staying.” “ But you'll have to stay, my friend. You can’t go.” “No? Just stay in your little bed

and keep quiet, mister. That's all you got to do.” " But if you go out you'll likely as met get shot a few times,” said Mr. Wcfean. “ What do you mean?” asked the burglar roughly, approaching the taxi again. “ Why, just this,” said Mr. Wi&un. “ Our uew patented burglar uhinu has been working ever since 1 woke up and saw you.” “No funny business, now," said the man, sharply. “ What burglar xtarrat” “ It’s a new kind that I helped to invent,” said Mr. Wilson, a note of pride in his voice. “ This burglar nkan doesn’t ring in your own house' at alk It rings in the other fellows’ houses. See this little switch here?” Mr. Witsan lifted the covers and disclosed a small contrivance fastened to the fr.imewnrk of the bed. “ Well, when I first saw you 1 turned that switch and it started to ring gongs in twenty differe>.it houses around here. When my friends woke

up and looked at their indicators they saw that Number 9 had dropped. That’s my number. Then they got their revolvers and shotg-uns and degs and earns around to call. At least, 1 hope so. You might look and see.” The burglar sprang to a window and looked out into the moonlight. He drew back with an oath and ran to imother window that overlooked the bank of th« house. Then he swore again and t igered his pistol nervously. “ I thought it would work,” said Mr. Wilson happily. “ Look a-hea e,” said the burglar menacingly. “ It’s up to you to get me out of this.” He poked his revolver into Mr. Wilson’s face. ” My dear man,” said Mr. Wikon, “1 couldn’t get you out of it if I tried. There, they’re ringing the door bell now." The burglar stood irresolute. " If Fd known you were working a game on me I'd a-fixed yon,” he muttered. “ Of course you would,” said Mr. Wilson consolingly. “The beauty of this new a’arm is that you never know anything about it. Now b? a geo I burglar ami put down that gun.” For a minute longer the man hesitated, ami then the ringing of the doorliell was supplemented with pounding noises and shouts. That decided him, for he laid his pistol on the lied and backed off against the wall. “ Y’ou win,” he said briefly. “Thank you.” said Mr. Wilson, picking up the gun and slipping out of bed. “ Now. if you'll kindily go first we’ll answer the bell. Don’t try to run tor it, because they’ve got a bunch of dogs, and yon wouldn’t have a chance.” The Irurglar led the way into the hall and down the stairs, and Mr. Wilson followed closely, with the revolver pointed at the middle of his captive’s back. “ Turn up the light and open the door,” he commanded. The burglar obeyed meekly, stepping back quickly a.s he undid the chain and turned the key. Half a dozen of Mr. Wilson's neighbours piled into the hall. “Got him?” they cried. “ There he is. gentlemen.” said Mr. Wilson, making a courtly bow. “ Burglar, these are my friends, Mr. Gates, Mr. Fanshawe, Mr. Melvor and others to whom I will present you more formally later. 1 regret that I must ask them to search you for weapons.” Mr. Wilton's neighbours went at the task rather gingerly and clumsily, but produced only a pocket knife. Then Mr. Gates stepped to the door, and called cut: “All right, boys; conic on in.” Other members of the Greenlawn Goff Club, including the radiant tmrglar alarm

inventor, Mr. Jackson, trooped in, bearing pistols and shotguns and leading dogs. “ This is a great night for Gardendale, gentlemen,” said Mr. Wilson, “and I congratulate you all. Now, if one of you will kindly telephone to the club, and tell the steward to have things ready, and the rest of you will entertain my friend for a few moments. I’ll go upstairs and dress. Then we’ll all go down to the club.” Ten minutes later a curious procession ■walked through the quiet streets of the Park, headed for the club house. The

■ toward had lighted up when the party arrived, and he stood grinning at the door. “Mr. Fanshawe, Mr. Gates, and Mr. Jackson,” said Mr. Wilson, “will you kindly take the candidate into the lockerroom and prepare him? We will await you in the cafe.” The trio thus detailed disappeared down the hall with their prisoner, and their fellow members followed Mr. Wilson into the large room on the main floor. At one end of it was a large (leather easy chair, raised upon a platdorm and overhung with a canopy of table d'.oths that was apparently or hasty construction. “Now, gentlemen.” said Mr. Wilson, “shall we adhere to the programme?” “I say,‘to hand him over to the town police at once,” declared little Mr. Tompkins nervously. “I don’t like this.” “Tut! brother,” t said Mr. Hotchkiss. “He isn't your burglar. He belongs to (Wilson.” < “ That's right.” chorused the club. “He belongs to Wilson.” “Then,” said Mr. Wilson, “I dedicate him to the club.”. A moment later a strange figure, escorted by three solemn guards, entered

from the hall. The figure was dressed in the garb of a knight of the fifteenth century. Over his shoulders was thrown * kingly robe. His face, which was that cf the man who had carelessly disturbed Mr. Wilson’s sleep, wore an expression •f pathetic dismay. Ihe burglar walking as if in a dream.

was led to the raised platform and motioned to sit.' Mr. Jackson, who had brought up in the rear with an armful of clothes, laid them upon a table in front of the throne, and stepped buck. “Burglar,” said Mr. Wilson, “what is your name?” There was no answer from the occupant of the royal seat, whose eyes shifted about the room, nervously. “He declines to give his name, gentlemen,” said Mr. Wilson. “Call him Foozle,” suggested the club’s worst golfer. “Excellent,” said Mr. Wilson. “The

secretary will make a note of it. Foozle, how old are you?” The burglar glared sullenly and then exclaimed: “Aw, cut it out. Send for the cops.” •’Don’t be rude, Foozle, old boy,” from the back, of the room. “Put him down as two years old,” commanded Mr. Wilson. “Foozle, have you a family?” No answer from, the throne. “The secretary will record that he has a wife and nine small children at home,” announced Mr. Wilsori. “Now, Foozle, instead of being a common, everyday burglar, would you like to be a king?’’ After half a minute's pause the interlocutor reported: “He would like to be a king. Bring forth the crown.” Mr. Gates advanced with a gilded crown, bowed low to the burglar and placed it upon his brow. The king shook it off angrily, whereupon Mr. Gates picked it up again and jammed it on with such vigour that the royal one said “Ouch” and 'winced. “You behave and be a nice, quiet king,” admonished Mr. Gates severely. “Now let the sceptre be brought,” said Mr. Wilson. Mr. Fanshawe advanced and placed a dainty wand in the monarch’s hand. { * “Now. gentlemen,” continued the master of ceremonies, “who is this person we see before us?” “He’s a king,” yelled the club. “What’s his name?” “King Foozle the First.” “And what is he king of?” “He is king of all the burglars,” answered the chorus. “Let his royal insignia 'be brought,” said Nir. Wilson. Mr. Jackson advanced with a tin pie plate, through which a hole had been bored and a string run. He hung it around the king’s neck and as ho stepped back the club read upon it, printed in white letters: “I am king of all the burglars.” « • “Good,” said Mr. Wilson. “Now, what are King Foosde’s gifts to his loyal subjects ?” “These,” said Mr. Gates, pointing to the burglar’s clothes. “Ah, yes.” said Mr. Wilson. “I will inspect them, with the royal permission. In the right-hand coat pocket I find a watch and fob, w'hiipji I recognise. I will keep,them. I further find a dozen silver spoons and seven silver forks. These I also recognise. ’ The king is bountiful to his .humble subject. In the trousers pocket I find the sum of £,B. Of tliis amount I recognise £2 as my

own. The balance will be turned over to the club. Here is a scarfpin which Ido not recognise. With the king’s permission, it will be presented to the steward. These pawn tickets will be set aside for future consideration. This knife, bunch of keys, revolver and eold chisel are presented to the club museum. The clothing will be turned over, ■with the king’s blessing, to the Salvation Anny. The king has no more to give away.” The king watched the distribution of royal gifts with some alarm. “Now, your highness,” said Mr. Wilson, “your subjects would 'be pleased to listen to a royal address on matters pertaining (to your kingdom.” Silence and a scowl. “Or a song,” called a member. “Or a recitation. Let him recite ‘Mary Had a Little Lamb.’ ” . The king sneered. “He neither sings, recites, nor orates,” announced Mr. Wilson, “but he desires to entertain us with feats of strength and agility in the gymnasium.” “Hooray!” yelled the club. “Come on, old boy,” and they led him from his chair and escorted him downstairs. First they put him on the parallel bars and ibeseeched him to do many push-ups, prodding him gently to further exertion ■when lie Showed signs of fatigue. The king flunked miserably on the tenth and hung helplessly. On the horizontal bar he was persuaded to chin himself ■twelve times, and was disrespectfully hooted when he failed on the thirteenth. In skinning the cat the royal pie plate and gorgeous ca.pe became entangled in his legs, and the king fell head down upon the mat. Then there was royal broad jumping, high jumping, club swinging, weight lifting, pulley manipulation and other feats of which the members of the Greenlawn Golf dub were fertile in invention. The king panted, perspired, and .became wobbly but he endured, it silently. The Committee on Persuasion had a wonderful knack of getting the royal consent. “The king desires to give an exhibition of boxing with his humble subject Mclvor,” said Mr. Wilson. A pair of (heavily-padded gloves were placed upon the royal hands, while the grinning Mclvor donned suspiciously skimpy looking ones. It was not a spirited set-to—-at least, not upon the part of the king. He 'was wilted before he began, and he was possibly faded when Mclvor got through with him. But there were other things in store for his highness. “Can you swim, O king?” queried Mr. Wilson, as they fanned damaged royalty. “Lock me up, boss,” said the king,

meekly. “You ain’t got on right to do this.” “The king says lie can swim excellently,” reported Mr. Wi’epn, and they led him to the tank room. "What’s the temperature of the water?” asked Mr. Gates. “Fifty-two, sir,” said the steward. “The tank is fresh filled.” “Excellent,” said Mr. Wilson. “Get Gates’ offensively red bathing suit.” They got it, and into it they put ilia king. ’ “I—l can’t swim,” he stammered faintly, but a voice from (behind answered, “Too late, my lord,” and over he went. He rose gasping, and struck out for the edge of Hie tank. “Why, he’s a regular porpoise,” said Mr. Gates, kicking the king’s lingers

gently when they sought a grip on tk* tiled edge. “Swim some more.” They wouldn't let him come ashore, but importuned him to paddle under water, fetch on his back, do the Australian crawl, and wiggle like a polliwog.

When his teeth chattered, and he began to ship water, they hauled him out and put him back into his royal robes. Then lunch was served. They sat at the round table, and the king, his velvet doublet having been covered with an apron, was set to carrying dishes. When he baulked, the Committee of Persuasioß found a way. When he dropped things they threatened to take away his crown and spank him. After lunch they did other things to him; in fact, until 3 o’clock in the morning he was a very (busy king. Then they dropped him on the throne again, and the master of ceremonies addressed him. “Your Royal Highness, King of All Burglars,” he said, “we are about to return you to your kingdom. You came to us in the humble gaib of the peasant, and you go away in the imperial robes of state. I regret that Fanshawe will have to get a new suit, but it is for the 'best. You will tel! your people that we treated you right royally. You will even condescend to explain to them the beauties of the Gardendale system of burglar alarms, the excellence of the armament of its citizens, the watchful-

ness of their dogs, and the unfailing ■hospitality of their elub. You will tell them all these things, in order tliab they may come and see, if they so wish. They will not-only learn it from your lips; they will read it in the newspapers. It will 'be published abroad ia the land. Now, sire, you may go.” The king, arose painfully and slowly from his chair, and looked about him in wonder. “Where’s mo clothes t” he asked. “They have been given to the Salvation Army,’?; said Mr. Wilson. “Am I goin’ in these tilings?" asked the king, surveying hie pink tights ia dismay. ‘ ~ “Sgre.ydu are. Foozle, old scout,” cried Mr. Gates. “Why, gents, I can’t go nowhere ia