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Based on a Victorian oil painting
The Cavalier, January 1910, with "A Midnight Burlesque"
James Francis Dwyer
JAMES FRANCIS DWYER (1874-1952) was an Australian writer. Born in Camden Park, New South Wales, Dwyer worked as a postal assistant until he was convicted in a scheme to make fraudulent postal orders and sentenced to seven years imprisonment in 1899. In prison, Dwyer began writing, and with the help of another inmate and a prison guard, had his work published in The Bulletin. After completing his sentence, he relocated to London and then New York, where he established a successful career as a writer of short stories and novels. Dwyer later moved to France, where he wrote his autobiography, Leg-Irons on Wings, in 1949. Dwyer wrote over 1,000 short stories during his career, and was the first Australian-born person to become a millionaire from writing. —Wikipedia
north wind fought with the falling snowflakes as it charged down the black gulch between the tall apartment houses. It gathered the feathery atoms into triangular masses on windowsills and door-steps. It stampeded them into the cross-streets, and thrust the terror-laden flakes into the creases of the clothing of Mr. "Rat" Connors and Mr. "Jigger" Malone till the two hoboes cursed the strenuous pursuer. Snow, in itself, was nothing to grumble at, but snow whipped along by a wind that was unleashed at the pole was an annoyance which tried the optimism of the roving pair.
An electric globe at the door of The Perrington threw a wedge of light resembling a white tombstone across the sidewalk, and the two halted for a moment in the illuminated patch. Light and heat were kin, and the desire to stand was unanimous. The darkness seemed to intensify the penetrating power of the wind.
"Rat" lifted his felt hat with a jerk, and banged it against the polished pillar at the entrance of the big apartment house.
"Dis ain't snow," he growled. "Dis is der mudder an' der farder o' snow. Say, can't we inject ourselves inter der hall of one o' dese palashul cribs an' get warm while yer give the floor-walker some dope about yer friends as must have shifted?"
"Jigger" Malone climbed mournfully up the steps and pressed his nose against the glass door. "Jigger's" nose was a snub affair, and one imagined that glass doors were directly responsible for its stunted condition.
"Dere's half a mile of raddyater workin' overtime in dere," he growled, "an' dere's nobody to warm, only a fat colored guy who's dreamin' 'bout watermelons in der ellyvater."
Mr. Connors joined his mate on the top step, and while they surveyed the interior of the hall, the elevator attendant came suddenly to life, and sped upward in his cage. He returned in a few minutes, and an immaculately dressed young man stepped out of the elevator and came hurriedly toward the front door.
"Try a touch," growled Connors. "Bite him 'fore he buttons his overcoat."
The young man stumbled through the door, muttering softly to himself, but he stopped suddenly when his eyes fell upon the two hoboes. He glanced quickly up and down the deserted street, then turned sharply upon the pair. "Jigger" Malone, who was on the point of expatiating on the unfinancial condition of himself and pal, checked himself suddenly as a question was fired pointblank at him.
"Do you two want a job?"
"Jigger" resented the inquiry. He had prepared a moving story for the ears of the stranger, and disgusted at the way in which the Fates had sidetracked him, he turned appealingly to it "Rat".
"Do we want a job?" he croaked.
Visions of hard work at snow shifting came up before the mental eve of Mr. Connors, and he debated for a minute while the stranger fidgeted uneasily.
"It depends on der job an' der kind of quartz she crushes," said "Rat" tentatively.
"It's a three-minute job," snapped the young man. "I just want you to move a piece of furniture, and I'll pay five dollars for the work."
"Den look on us as fully enlisted," murmured Mr. Connors genially, and next moment the two hoboes were following their employer to the elevator, wondering stupidly on the providential hand of destiny which had stayed their footsteps till the well-paid job was put within their reach.
The elevator attendant regarded the pair with questioning eyes, but the young man muttered a hasty explanation, and the cage whizzed up to the sixth floor. The philanthropic person stepped out quickly.
"Come on," he ordered, and the two outcasts shambled: after him down the corridor. The heat warmed them into life again. They exchanged winks and sundry facial twists to express their surprise at their good fortune, and rolled their eyes in wonder at the costly furnishings.
Their employer fumbled for a moment with the key of a door at the extreme end of the passage, then he passed into a dimly lit hall and beckoned them in, The surroundings were strange to Messrs. Malone and Connors. Magnificent oriental draperies were suspended from the walls, and the number of small art treasures that were immediately within the reach of "Jigger" caused a peculiar twitching in his fingers, and brought to his mind a similar attack in his early childhood when a goodnatured aunt had taken him into a toyshop to make a selection.
HE was contemplating the advisability of stowing a small bronze Buddha into his coat-pocket while the young man was busy with the lock of a door leading off the hall, but the opportunity passed before he decided. His employer overcame the fastening, hustled them both into a large bedchamber, and after locking both the doors through which they had passed, turned on the light and gave his orders rapidly.
"Now, this is the job for you fellows," he cried. "See this big wardrobe? I want it moved out from the wall. Steady now! Lift together!"
The wardrobe was a huge mahogany affair, and it took the united efforts of the three to make it budge. "Rat" panted under the unusual efforts he was putting forth, while Malone was urged to extraordinary muscular exertion by the pictures which imagination painted of the pleasure-making possibilities of a five-dollar bill.
The piece of furniture came slowly from the wall, and the young man called a halt. He tried to wedge himself in between the wardrobe and the cedar dado, but the space was not sufficient.
"Just a few more inches," he cried. "Hurry up there! Grip hold!"
He halted them again, and finding that there was now space to spare, he disappeared behind the wardrobe, leaving "Rat" and "Jigger" standing in the center of the room.
The two hoboes glanced at each other and then at the bulky piece of furniture. The one question puzzled the two brains. What was he doing? The red eyes of Connors made the inquiry of Malone, and the shifty blue eyes of Malone asked it of Connors.
For a minute they stood thus, then the two became suddenly alert. The faint tinkle of metal came from behind the wardrobe, "Rat's" head was pushed snakily forward, and the look of curiosity fled. "Jigger" changed from one foot to the other and looked at his mate. An irresistible desire to exchange impressions came over them. They leaned toward each other. Malone whispered a word into Connors's ear, and Connors whispered the same word into the ear of Malone. The word was "tank". The faint tinkle had informed them that their employer was opening one of those wall-embedded safes which the landlords of high-class apartment-houses ingeniously assure their tenants can be hidden from the eyes of a burglar by placing a piece of furniture before them!
"Jigger" took a step forward; "Rat" kept pace with him. Greed lit up their eyes; their fingers twitched nervously. Quick glances carried questions and answers. Within a yard of them was an open safe, and they were two against one. Both remembered, at that moment, that their employer was a very slender person, and they wondered as they crept forward why he was so stupid as to bring them face to face with a temptation of such magnitude.
The head of Connors was within a few inches of the end of the wardrobe when a noise in the hall through which they had entered the bedroom made him draw back suddenly and stand erect. Malone followed his example. A key had turned in the lock of the outer door, and they heard the voices of two people engaged in a loud conversation.
The sounds immediately brought their employer from his hiding-place. Tiptoeing hurriedly past the two hoboes, he pulled the chain of the electric light, and the room was plunged in darkness. "Rat" and "Jigger" were astounded. All their mental faculties had been concentrated on the one purpose, and the sudden movement of their employer left them helpless. Then a flash of realization came over them, and with parched lips they stared in horror at the situation which the action of the young man revealed. They had been engaged by a burglar!
The stranger verified their suspicions.
Reaching out in the darkness he gripped an arm of each, and drew them together with a whispered caution. For one terrible moment, the three stood in the center of the room expecting the bedroom door to fly open; then the burglar gave a little sigh of relief. The door of an adjoining room creaked on its hinges, and the voices died away in a soft buzzing noise as the speakers left the hall.
The two hoboes came to a full realization of their position by a joint snort of rage.
"Well, I'm dashed!" muttered Malone, but the hand of the burglar came quickly across his mouth and stifled any further comment.
"Shut up, you fool!" he hissed. "Sing Sing is pretty close to you if you're not careful."
Fierce hate was uppermost in the mind of the two, but the whispered words of the gentlemanly cracksman choked back their rage. They had to find a safe way out, and the nerve of the other so impressed them that they looked to him to provide it. They, of course, were innocent of any criminal intent, but the reputation of Messrs. Connors and Malone was in such a tattered condition that it could not adequately support such a plea in open court. They realized that without much mental labor. Aggrieved innocence was not a cloak that they could wear to advantage. Their only hope lay in the resourcefulness of the scoundrel who had trapped them, and, with the criminal's respect for courage and an inherited respect for the well-dressed man, they followed him cautiously to the window.
The burglar lifted the sash carefully and climbed out into the darkness. An easy retreat by means of a handy fire-escape came up before the minds of the hoboes and lessened their fears as they followed him. 'The night was dark, and it was snowing heavily. From far below came the hoot of a nervous steamer feeling her way down the Hudson.
"Jigger" Malone shuffled forward a few inches, and groped nervously for the railing of the fire-escape which he thought was near, but the younger man thrust him roughly back.
"You darned fool!" he growled. "Where do you think you are? This is a stone coping about three feet wide, and there's nothing between you and eternity!"
"JIGGER'S" knees weakened as he literally glued himself to the wet wall. They had come up six stories! An unprotected ledge three feet wide was between him and the horrible gulf of gloom where the air seemed to bulge and billow like waves made out of cotton batting dipped in ink! A fierce desire to tip the cause of the trouble into the chasm came over him, but he lacked the physical courage to support the hate.
The burglar stood for a moment reconnoitering. To the left the light from two different windows, the blinds of which were raised, fell across the coping, and made retreat in that direction decidedly dangerous. To the right everything was dark, and with a muttered order to Malone and Connors, the well-dressed housebreaker started to work his way carefully along the slippery ledge.
"Rat" followed with a grow! of fury. "Jigger" turned for a moment to the window, and then, recognizing how hopeless it would be to escape through the hall, he crouched low and, with shoulder pressed close to the unsympathetic bricks, followed slowly.
A thousand forms of torture for the man who had betrayed himself and pal came up in his mind, while the fear of the abyss sickened him. The black depths seemed to reach up and grasp at him. His imagination painted the probable ending of the adventure, and he grasped Connors's leg in abject terror as the picture of his body hurtling through the air came up before his mental vision.
"Wot's up?" growled "Rat."
"Nothing," gasped Malone. "Say, I—I wus jest thinkin' if I—I git out of dis alive, I'll—"
"Stow dat!" muttered the other "Leave dat part of der business till we finish dis akerybatic stunt we're doin'."
A gust of wind tore in from the river and clutched at Malone till he moaned in fear. His fingers groped madly along the wall, but the surface was murderous in its wet smoothness. The wind came between him and the bricks like a wedge that whistled contemptuously as he leaned over to resist its efforts. Imagination reveled in the ending which it saw in sight, and it furnished the eddying gusts with invisible hands which clutched at his worn garments. His boot slipped on a particle of ice, and he lowered himself hurriedly to his stomach.
For two minutes he lay flat, then the fear of being left alone urged him onward. On hands and knees he followed the other two. Once he attempted to rise, but the wind sprang at him. He pictured it waiting till an opportunity arrived to tear him from the ledge. It was alive, vicious, bloodthirsty.
The burglar and Connors had halted. They were conferring together in low tones, and Malone butted into them in his hurry to make up for the time he had lost. Recovering himself with a little yelp of terror, he clutched "Rat's" leg and drew himself erect.
"Wot's up now?" he gurgled.
"Dere's a break in der flamin' copin', an' der fire-ladder is on der udder side of it," growled Connors. "It's too big to step over, an' it's risky work doin' long jumps up dis height."
Malone's lower jaw battered the upper one pitilessly. His knees weakened, and once more he sank to a sitting position upon the wet ledge. The possibility of a jump appalled him. To leave the coping for the briefest moment would give the wind the opportunity he knew it waited for. He swooned when he contemplated such a happening. He poured out blasphemy upon the head of the burglar till his dry lips refused to obey his wishes.
The burglar laughed softly as he listened to the tirade. With his keen eyes he had noted the position of the two hoboes when he darted round the wardrobe on the occasion of the alarm; and, although he had been prepared for such a contingency, the grim humor of the thing tickled him. The precious pair of rascals, who were ready to pounce upon him, were now being called upon to suffer the same anxiety for a contemplated crime as that which he was paying for the actual theft. The terror of Malone amused him immensely, but he tried to hide his enjoyment.
Standing on his tiptoes, the burglar reached up his hands and felt along the wet wall. It was impossible to see anything twelve inches away.
"Say," he murmured, "I think we could get onto the roof from here. One of us would have to climb up on the other's shoulders. Once on the roof, we could easily get to the fire-escape."
"Yes," growled Connors, and there was suspicion in the muttered assent.
"Oh, I don't care which one of us goes up first," laughed the burglar; "but it's our only hope of getting out of this fix. On all of these tar roofs there are wooden gratings to walk on, and if we got one down here we could use it as a ladder to get up by."
"But s'pose der are none?" questioned Connors.
"Go down the fire-escape and find a rope"' answered the cracksman. "Here, you climb up on my shoulders and try it."
He turned his face to the wall and braced his legs apart Connors cursed quietly. His nerves were not in a nice state, now that he was standing on the ledge; but the thought of climbing up the young man's back into the darkness sent a thrill up his spine. He remembered that he was a heavy man compared to the burglar, whose slimness had attracted his attention: when he was engaged to shift the wardrobe. Connors turned to Malone to suggest that he act as the human ladder, but Malone gibbered fear-stricken protests.
"Took here," cried Connors, turning to the burglar, "will you do der fair thing if I let you climb up?"
The other laughed carelessly as he listened to "Jigger's" condemnation of his mate's proposal. "Of course I will," he answered. "Do you think I'd leave you two poor devils here? If there is nothing up there, I'll go down the escape and get a rope."
Connors meditated a moment. If two climbed up on the shoulders of the third, something was necessary to pull up the man left on the ledge, and the burglar's proposition seemed to be their only hope.
"Come on," he growled, and, turning his face to the wall, he leaned inward and braced his legs.
The cracksman was evidently free from nerve troubles. Using the crouching Malone as a footstool, he climbed onto Connors's shoulders and reached up into the darkness. His fingers clutched the coping, and he gave a little gurgle of relief.
"Straighten yourself easy," he called down softly, and, in obedience to the order, Connors shuffled his feet slowly forward till he stood upright. The weight of the burglar rested solidly-on his shoulders for a minute; then the muscles stiffened, and the legs went up into the black void.
"RAT" stepped cautiously aside. If the climber failed to drag his body up, there was no hope: for him. If he dropped back onto the coping, the inevitable stagger would precipitate him into the gulf.
Malone's teeth beat out a jig tune as he listened to the boots of the burglar scratching the wall far up above him. The suspense was agony. He hurt his shoulders by pressing them against the bricks.
"He's doin' it," muttered Connors. "He'll get there—" He stopped with an oath and clutched at the wall. A small packet clattered down from above and fell with a metallic ring on the coping. Connors stooped down and, groping forward in the snow, clutched a small steel box about nine inches square. It had fallen from the clothes of the climber when he was struggling to get his legs over the ridge of the roof. Connors gave a little gasp of joy. The vision of the safe behind the heavy wardrobe came into his mind, and he gurgled like a child. He held the jewel-case that the burglar had stolen.
"Say!" The voice came down from the roof, and the hobo noted the anxiety in the tone.
"Well?" growled Connors.
"Did you get that box?"
"Wot box?"
"The box I dropped."
"No."
There was silence on the roof for the space of a minute, then the angry voice of the burglar broke the silence.
"You liar!" he cried. "Own up that you have it, or I'll knock you off the ledge with a lump of wood."
Malone stuttered in terror. The new danger horrified him.
"I haven't got yer box!" screamed Connors. "It went into the yard."
The burglar cursed deeply. He had heard the box strike the coping, and felt certain that one of the hoboes had possessed himself of it when it fell.
Connors dropped on his knees by the side of Malone, and, catching hold of his mate's hand, guided it over the surface of the box.
"Outer der tank," he whispered. "Dere's diamonds in dis!"
"Are you going to give that up?" cried the cracksman. "Answer quick, or I'm throw a plank down on the pair of you."
"We haven't got it," growled Connors. "Go an' do wot yer promised to do."
The burglar rushed away in search of a missile to throw at the defiant hobo, and Connors lost no time in trying to get himself out of the danger zone. Connors without the jewel-box might have hesitated to jump the gap, but Connors with the jewel-box was a different person.
He grabbed Malone by the shoulder and shook him fiercely.
"Quick!" he cried. "Git up, you fool! We'll jump the hole an' dodge him down der fire-stairs. Git up!"
Malone chattered obscenely, but Connors felt his way to the edge of the gap. He knew the man on the roof was positive that he had the box, and he knew well the terms on which he would be rescued, even if the burglar's better judgment stopped him from fulfilling his threat.
He struck a match and held it out over the gulf. The gap was only six feet wide, but the snow on the ledge rendered the leap a difficult one. Connors shrank back from it, yet the jewel-case, clasped to his breast, nerved him to the effort.
He scrambled back to Malone, and cursed him so vigorously that his nerve partly returned to him. It was a case of do or die. If they didn't take the leap, the probability was that the angry burglar would throw something down upon their heads in revenge. Help from him was: now out of the question, and safety lay in the leap.
Standing on the edge of the gulf, Connors walked backward four paces, took a long breath, and then, with a wild rush, sprang into the darkness.
He landed on his heels, skated madly along the wet stone, and miraculously clutched the ladder of the fire-escape when on the very edge of the narrow platform. His escape was a marvelous one.
For a moment he sat up and wiped his brow, and in that second he wondered why he had thought it cold when he pulled up in front of The Perrington. He was perspiring. Cautiously he went back over the toboggan-slide to the edge of the gap and called softly across it to his mate. Malone answered with a little whine of terror.
"Come on!" cried Connors. "If he don't murder yer he'll git yer fifteen years in the pen when he starts to throw things at yer. Say when yer comin', an' I'll be ready to grab yer."
He moved back from the edge, threw himself flat on his stomach and, with his head turned to the gulf, waited for his mate to jump.
A minute passed—two, three. Connors was annoyed. Out of the darkness above him he thought he heard sounds, and fears of his own safety came uppermost in his mind.
"I'll give yer another minute," cried. "Look out! The tank-buster is coming!"
A shrill cry of fear came to Connors out of the black void, then Malone's boots slipped along the coping and struck him in the face as he gripped his legs to save him from falling off the ledge.
"You're right," he muttered. "H-s-h—he's speaking! Don't make a sound. Catch hold of me coat an' follow me down der ladder."
IT was nearly sunrise next morning when the two hoboes halted
in a little clump of trees near Spuyten Duyvil. One must travel
with much circumspection in the early hours, and the precious box
carried by Connors made the two extra careful not to attract
attention in their flight from The Perrington.
Connors laid the box down on the grass, while he hammered at a piece of iron in an endeavor to convert it into a makeshift jimmy with which to open the treasure-case.
In their wild tramp their imaginations had pictured it as the repository of great wealth.
"Diamonds for sure," muttered Connors, inserting the sharp end of the piece of iron.
"An' pearls an' things like dat," murmured Malone.
The lock groaned as the lever bit. The muscles of the two became taut, and their eyes bulged. The lid twisted, and then, with a sudden jerk, it flew wide open.
The heads of the two hoboes were thrust down to within a few inches of the plush-covered interior. They stared at it in blind astonishment, and then, to make sure that their eyes were not playing any tricks with them, they allowed their dirty fingers to grope over the emptiness of it.
Connors shook the box, knocked it on the ground, then, with a curse, flung it down the hill.
"Say," he growled, "wasn't it a pity we didn't ask der guy for der five-spot he promised us after we had lifted der heavyweight rag-box in der room?"
But "Jigger" Malone was too ill to answer the inquiry.
Roy Glashan's Library
Non sibi sed omnibus
Go to Home Page
This work is out of copyright in countries with a copyright
period of 70 years or less, after the year of the author's death.
If it is under copyright in your country of residence,
do not download or redistribute this file.
Original content added by RGL (e.g., introductions, notes,
RGL covers) is proprietary and protected by copyright.