“‘Yes ma’am,’ I replied, wondering what was coming next.
“‘Well,’ said the sweet voice again, ‘a burglar has broken into our house and I have him locked in the sitting room, and I will be very much obliged indeed if you will send an officer here at once to take the man into custody.’
“Just in the most matter of fact manner imaginable,” cried Tomlin. “Could anything be more picturesque or interesting? Here is a woman who is not afraid of a burglar. She calmly telephones for the police to come and arrest him. I think that’s a peach of a story, and if you have any red blood in your veins you will grab your hat and coat and start off on the story before I am able to say ten more words.”
This was precisely what Herbert did. In less than a minute’s time he was at the door, and turning to Tomlin, said:
“Where’s the house? What was the number?”
“The cabby knows all about it,” said Tomlin, pointing to a stout man who was sitting on the high seat of a cab in front of the door.
“What’s that?” asked Herbert.
“That’s the cabby,” replied Tomlin; “you don’t suppose I would come here without furnishing you with all the conveniences necessary to do the job. There’s a policeman in plain clothes on the inside of the cab. All you have to do is to go with him, help him to make the arrest, and then write up the story. I’ll call here again in an hour and get the copy. If it proves to be a beat, I’ll give it to Blakeley in the morning and quietly let him know that you have sent it in as a partial act of retribution for the scurvy manner in which you treated him on that other big scoop.”
“Tomlin, I wish you would stop talking about that,” said Herbert impatiently; “but I’ll do the best I can with this story.” And with a farewell shout he jumped into the cab, pulled the door to with a slam and was whirled in the direction of upper New York. The cab driver had evidently been given an extra fee for speed, because he lashed his horse unmercifully, and the vehicle went whirling up Broadway at a gait which terrified chance pedestrians and aroused the ire of sleepy policemen. Once the hub of the wheel struck another team that was coming down-town, and for several seconds Herbert felt that their team was about to be wrecked; but by some lucky chance the wheels became extricated and the cab once more resumed its upward and onward journey. Finally, after many minutes had passed, it turned off the main highway into a side street. Herbert noticed by glancing at a lamp on the side of the thoroughfare that they had turned into West 69th street. Presently the cab stopped, and when Herbert and the officer had alighted, the cabby, pointing towards a brownstone house with the tip of his whip, said:
“That’s your house, boys.”