ding silver. Clara was openly discouraged and if I still clung to my
faith, at the bottom I was anxious and impatient. When July passed
unfruitfully even our sense of humor was seriously endangered.

"They will never come," said Clara firmly.

"My dear," I replied, "the last time they came in July. All the more
reason that they should change to August."

"They will never come," said Clara a second time.

"Let's bait the hook," I said, trying to turn the subject into a
facetious vein. "We might strew a dozen or so of those individual dishes
down the path to the road."

"They'll never come," said Clara obstinately.

And yet they came.

On the second of August, about two o'clock in the morning I was awakened
out of a deep sleep by the voice of my wife crying:

"George, here's a burglar!"

I thought the joke obvious and ill-timed and sleepily said so.

"But, George dear, he's here--in the room!"

There was something in my wife's voice, a note of ringing exultation,
that brought me bolt upright in bed.

"Put up your hands--quick!" said a staccato voice.

It was true, there at the end of the bed, flashing the conventional
bull's-eye lantern, stood at last a real burglar.

"Put 'em up!"

My hands went heavenward in thanksgiving and gratitude.

"Make a move, you candy dude, or shout for help," continued the voice,
shoving into the light the muzzle of a Colt's revolver, "and this for
you's!"

The slighting allusion I took to the credit of the pink and white
pajamas I wore--but nothing at that moment could have ruffled my
feelings. I was bubbling over with happiness. I wanted to jump up and
hug him in my arms. I listened. Downstairs could be heard the sound of
feet and an occasional metallic ring.

"Oh, George, isn't it too wonderful--wonderful for words!" said Clara,
hysterical with joy.

"I can't believe it," I cried.

"Shut up!" said the voice behind the lantern.

"My dear friend," I said conciliatingly, "there's not the slightest need
of your keeping your finger on that wabbling, cold thing. My feelings
towards you are only the tenderest and the most grateful."

"Huh!"

"The feelings of a brother! My only fear is that you may overlook one or
two articles that I admit are not conveniently exposed."

The bull's-eye turned upon me with a sudden jerk.

"Well, I'll be damned!"

"We have waited for you long and patiently. We thought you would never
come. In fact, we had sort of lost faith in you. I