The Motion Picture Story Magazine (Aug 1913-Jan 1914)

28 TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE bull 's-eye staggering. In his confusion Barney pocketed the light and advanced, holding his pistol aloft like a torch, in order to better discover the owner of the sound. A soft heap, coming in contact with his number ten shoe, stirred feebly, uttering a second specimen of complaint. "Mr. Hinderson, is it yersilf or another wan?" anxiously inquired Barney. "Shure be aisy an' comfortable, whilest I go out an' sind in th' alarrum ! " With this cheering advice, he staggered out, stumbling over a monster cut-glass punch-bowl and a lovingcup, on the way, and, producing his whistle, blew it long and loud. The pin-point of sound pricking heavy-lidded night soon had the effect of arousing it. From every crossstreet and alleyway sped a defender of the peace, armed with a night-stick and a laudable desire to be in at the death. Trailing the sound to the open door of the jewelry store, they entered without the preliminary of knocking that is prescribed by the best etiquet books. A single electric bulb twinkling over the diamond-case revealed, in the forlorn flicker of light, Patrolman Barney methodically removing the last rope from the trussed form of Albert Henderson himself, pale and blinking, propped against the wreck of one of his own fair show-cases. A gag, consisting of a ring-cushion, dangled between his gaping jaws, Barney removing this thoughtfully, an incoherent stream of speech dribbled out into the room. "Burglar!" gasped the storekeeper, wobbling an explanatory finger at the melee on every side — "burglar — broke in — hour ago — I was — late — shutting up. We fought" — he held up to view two scraps of cloth clutched heroically in one hand — "I tore those off him — before he got — away. ' ' Exhibits A and B, a scrap of shirt and a piece of trouser leg, with one lonely button attached thereto, testified mutely to the severity of the struggle. The policemen looked blankly at the samples of burgliferous dry-goods; then at the disheveled shopkeeper, who had staggered to his feet and was frantically pawing among the aftermath; finally at each other, seeking an idea. "By this time," remarked one, mournfully, "he might be over in Eurrup." "Or th' Bronx," nodded another. "Or Hoboken," sighed a third. Ensued an awkward silence, broken only by the spasmodic wailing of the shopkeeper inventorying his loss. "All the diamonds — my seed-pearl chains — the solid gold cuff-buttons — the pickle-forks " ' ' Sthrange, ' ' mused Patrolman Barney, "that a burglar sh'd 'a' had a taste f 'r pickle-for-rks, but ye niver can tell. I knew wan wance who'd lave joolery an' silverware an' load himsilf up wid nickel-plated shoehorns. 'Twas just his hobby, th' shoehorns. ' ' "And the ruby necklace," sobbed the shopkeeper, hysterically, "and the skull-and-cross-bones scarf-pin ! I'm a ruined man " "Didn't ye have any burglar inshurance on yer stock, man alive?" quoth Barney, in high contempt. "A little — a mere drop in the bucket." Henderson tried to wring his hands with a dozen dessert-spoons in them and failed dismally. "Shure he must have been a traymindous felly," quoth the smallest policeman, in an awed tone. "He's shmashed two counters, three slidingdures an' a morris-chair." Barney laid a capable hand, corresponding to the number ten shoe, on the unnerved shirt-sleeve of the robbed merchant and turned him face about. "Best come along to th' stationhoose wid us, Misther Hinderson an' lodge yer complaint," he said, marshalling his forces into the street with masterly generalship and bolting the door thru the broken glass. "I'm fearin' ye '11 not foind yer picklefor-rks in a hurry, but ye niver can tell. If th' burglar foinds they're only plated wans, he may bring 'em back — who knows?"