"There isn't any. Nothing happens in New York. The papers say things
do, but they don't. However, I'll come in. It seems to me that
you're the man with the news."

Jimmy fumbled with his latch-key.

"You're a bright sort of burglar," said Mifflin, disparagingly. "Why
don't you use your oxy-acetylene blow-pipe? Do you realize, my boy,
that you've let yourself in for buying a dinner for twelve hungry
men next week? In the cold light of the morning, when reason returns
to her throne, that'll come home to you."

"I haven't done anything of the sort," said Jimmy, unlocking the
door.

"Don't tell me you really mean to try it."

"What else did you think I was going to do?"

"But you can't. You would get caught for a certainty. And what are
you going to do then? Say it was all a joke? Suppose they fill you
full of bullet-holes! Nice sort of fool you'll look, appealing to
some outraged householder's sense of humor, while he pumps you full
of lead with a Colt."

"These are the risks of the profession. You ought to know that,
Arthur. Think what you went through tonight."

Arthur Mifflin looked at his friend with some uneasiness. He knew