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 fashion in Mr. Ravenslee's steady
hand. At length, the shutters barred, the boy turned, and moistening dry
lips, spoke hoarsely 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!"