layin' fer me, but de next time he seen me he put me wise to dis
place."
"Coals of fire," said Jimmy. "He was of a forgiving disposition." A
single rain-drop descended on the nape of his neck. In another
moment, a smart shower had begun.
"This matter has passed out of our hands," said Jimmy. "We must
break in, if only to get shelter. Get busy, my lad."
There was a handy window only a few feet from the ground. Spike
pulled from his pocket a small bottle.
"What's that?" inquired Jimmy.
"Molasses, boss," said Spike, deferentially.
He poured the contents of the bottle on a piece of paper, which he
pressed firmly against the window-pane. Then, drawing out a short
steel instrument, he gave the paper a sharp tap. The glass broke
almost inaudibly. The paper came away, leaving a gap in the pane.
Spike inserted his hand, shot back the catch, and softly pushed up
the window.
"Elementary," said Jimmy; "elementary, but quite neat."
There was now a shutter to be negotiated. This took longer, but in
the end Spike's persuasive methods prevailed.
Jimmy became quite cordial.
"You have been well-grounded, Spike," he said. "And, after all, that
is half the battle. The advice I give to every novice is, 'Learn to
walk before you try to run.' Master the a, b, c, of the craft first.
With a little careful coaching, you will do. Just so. Pop in."
Spike climbed cautiously over the sill, followed by Jimmy. The
latter struck a match, and found the electric light switch. They
were in a parlor, furnished and decorated with surprising taste.
Jimmy had expected the usual hideousness, but here everything from
the wall-paper to the smallest ornaments was wonderfully well
selected.
Business, however, was business. This was no time to stand admiring
artistic effects in room-furnishing. There was that big J to be
carved on the front door. If 'twere done, then 'twere well 'twere
done quickly.
He was just moving to the door, when from some distant part of the
house came the bark of a dog. Another joined in. The solo became a
duet. The air was filled with their clamor.
"Gee!" cried Spike.
The remark seemed more or less to sum up the situation.
"'Tis sweet," says Byron, "to hear the watch-dog's honest bark."
Jimmy and Spike found two watch-dogs' honest barks cloying. Spike
intimated this by making a feverish dash for the open window.
Unfortunately for the success of this maneuver, the floor of the
room was covered not with a carpet but with tastefully scattered
rugs, and underneath these rugs it was very highly polished. Spike,
treading on one of these islands, was instantly undone. No power of
will or muscle can save a man in such a case. Spike skidded. His
feet flew from under him. There was a momentary flash of red head,
as of a passing meteor. The next moment, he had fallen on his back
with a thud that shook the house. Even in the crisis, the thought
flashed across Jimmy's mind that this was not Spike's lucky night.
Upstairs, the efforts of the canine choir had begun to resemble the
"A che la morte" duet in "Il Trovatore." Particularly good work was
being done by the baritone dog.
Spike sat up, groaning. Equipped though he was by nature with a
skull of the purest and most solid ivory, the fall had disconcerted
him. His eyes, like those of Shakespeare's poet, rolling in a fine
frenzy, did glance from heaven to earth, from earth to heaven. He
passed his fingers tenderly through his vermilion hair.
Heavy footsteps were descending the stairs. In the distance, the
soprano dog had reached A in alt., and was holding it, while his
fellow artiste executed runs in the lower register.
"Get up!" hissed Jimmy. "There's somebody coming! Get up, you idiot,
can't you!"
It was characteristic of Jimmy that it never even occurred to him to
desert the fallen one, and depart alone. Spike was his brother-in-
arms. He would as soon have thought of deserting him as a sea-
captain would of abandoning the ship.
Consequently, as Spike, despite all exhortations, continued to
remain on the floor, rubbing his head and uttering "Gee!" at
intervals in a melancholy voice, Jimmy resigned himself to fate, and
stood where he was, waiting for the door to open.
It opened the next moment as if a cyclone had been behind it.
CHAPTER VII
GETTING ACQUAINTED
A cyclone, entering a room, is apt to alter the position of things.
This cyclone shifted a footstool, a small chair, a rug, and Spike.
The chair, struck by a massive boot, whirled against the wall. The
foot-stool rolled away. The rug crumpled up and slid. Spike, with a
yell, leaped to his feet, slipped again, fell, and finally
compromised on an all-fours position, in which attitude he remained,
blinking.
While these stirring acts were in progress, there was the sound of a
door opening upstairs, followed by a scuttering of feet and an
appalling increase in the canine contribution to the current noises.
The duet had now taken on quite a Wagnerian effect.
There raced into the room first a white bull-terrier, he of the
soprano voice, and--a bad second--his fellow artiste, the baritone,
a massive bull-dog, bearing a striking resemblance to the big man
with the big lower jaw whose entrance had started the cyclone.
And, then, in theatrical parlance, the entire company "held the
picture." Up-stage, with his hand still on the door, stood the man
with the jaw; downstage, Jimmy; center, Spike and the bull-dog,
their noses a couple of inches apart, inspected each other with
mutual disfavor. On the extreme O. P. side, the bull-terrier, who
had fallen foul of a wicker-work table, was crouching with extended
tongue and rolling eyes, waiting for the next move.
The householder looked at Jimmy. Jimmy looked at the householder.
Spike and the bull-dog looked at each other. The bull-terrier
distributed his gaze impartially around the company.
"A typical scene of quiet American home-life," murmured Jimmy.
The householder glowered.
"Hands up, you devils!" he roared, pointing a mammoth revolver.
The two marauders humored his whim.
"Let me explain," said Jimmy pacifically, shuffling warily around in
order to face the bull-terrier, who was now strolling in his
direction with an ill-assumed carelessness.
"Keep still, you blackguard!"
Jimmy kept still. The bull-terrier, with the same abstracted air,
was beginning a casual inspection of his right trouser-leg.
Relations between Spike and the bull-dog, meanwhile, had become more
strained. The sudden flinging up of the former's arms had had the
worst effects on the animal's nerves. Spike, the croucher on all-
fours, he might have tolerated; but Spike, the semaphore, inspired
him with thoughts of battle. He was growling in a moody, reflective
manner. His eye was full of purpose.
It was probably this that caused Spike to look at the householder.
Till then, he had been too busy to shift his gaze, but now the bull-
dog's eye had become so unpleasing that he cast a pathetic glance up
at the man by the door.
"Gee!" he cried. "It's de boss. Say, boss, call off de dawg. It's
sure goin' to nip de hull head off'n me."
The other lowered the revolver in surprise.
"So, it's you, you limb of Satan!" he remarked. "I thought I had
seen that damned red head of yours before. What are you doing in my
house?"
Spike uttered a howl in which indignation and self-pity were nicely
blended.
"I'll lay for that Swede!" he cried. "I'll soak it to him good!