THE BENEFICENT BURGLAR
CHAPTER I
A CALL FOR HELP
The agitated transit of Mr. Lewis Copewell through the anteroom of theHonorable Alexander Hamilton Burrow created a certain stir. With allthe lawless magnificence of a comet that runs amuck through theheavens, he burst upon the somewhat promiscuous assemblage alreadyseated there. The assemblage sat in dumb and patient expectancy. Quiteobviously it was a waiting-list, already weary with enforcedprocrastination. Its many eyes were anxiously focussed on the doorthat sequestered the great man in the aloofness of his sanctum.
A young woman gazed across her typewriter at the supplicants seekingaudience, with a calm hauteur which seemed to say, “Wait, varlets,wait! The great do not hurry.”
They returned her gaze sullenly but in silence. None ventured topenetrate beyond her desk to the portal forbiddingly placarded,“Private.” None, that is, until Mr. Copewell arrived.
“Where’s Aleck?” demanded that gentleman, mopping his perspiring browwith a silk handkerchief. “I want to see him quick!”
The young woman looked up blankly. She knew that Mr. Copewell and heremployer were, in their private capacities, on terms of intimacy, butduty is duty, and law is impartial. Many persons wanted to see himquick. Since the triumph of civic reform had converted the attorneywho paid her salary from a mere Aleck, who was even as other Alecks,into Alexander the Great, she felt that his friends in private lifemust adapt themselves to the altered condition of affairs.
Accordingly her reply came with frigid dignity. “Mr. Burrow instructedthat he was not to be, on any account, interrupted.”
“Huh?” Into Mr. Copewell’s surprised voice crept the raucous note thatthe poet describes as “like the growl of the fierce watch-dog.”
“Huh?”
The young woman became glacial. “Mr. Burrow can’t see you.”
The glance which Mr. Copewell bent on this deterring female for amoment threatened to thaw her cold reserve into hot confusion. Thewaiting assemblage shuffled its feet, scenting war.
At the same moment the private door swung open and Mr. Burrow himselfstood on the threshold. At the sight of him several gentlemen who werepatriotically willing to serve their city in the police and firedepartments came respectfully to their feet. One contractor, who hadfor sale a new paving-block, saluted in military fashion. Mr. LewisCopewell took a belligerent stride toward the door as though he meantto win through by force of assault.
But Mr. Burrow made violence unnecessary. His smile revealed awelcoming row of teeth, which in modern America means “dee-lighted.”
“Trot right in, old chap,” he supplemented.
The young woman looked crestfallen. She felt that her chief had failedto hold up her hands in the stern requirements of discipline.
“Good morning, everybody!” rushed on Mr. Burrow, with a genial wave ofhis hand and a smile of benediction for the waiting minions. Thissecond Alexander the Great knew that you can abuse a man’s patience ifyou are a person of importance and smile blandly enough. Some of theCæsars could even massacre and remain popular—but they had to smilevery winningly. “Terribly busy! Must make all interviews brief thismorning,” went on the new dictator. “Mus