“I think I’ll keep the box under my bed,” spoke Larry. “I don’t suppose a burglar would take it if he saw it, but there’s no use running any chances. So I’ll hide the box.”
When he went to bed that night he carried the box with him, first looking to be sure the deed was in it. Then he placed the receptacle under his bed, away back, and close to the wall.
“If anyone wants to get that they’ll have to climb under the bed,” said Larry. “And if they do, I’m pretty sure to wake up. Then—let’s see, I wonder what I would do then?”
He paused to look about him, in search of a weapon, half smiling as he did so, since he had not the faintest idea that a burglar would enter their humble apartments.
“That club will be just the thing,” thought Larry, as he saw a heavy stick standing in the corner. It had been used as a clothes prop, for the lines that were strung on the flat roof of the tenement, and Jimmy, playing Indian, had brought it into the house that day. “This is better than a revolver,” thought Larry, placing it at the head of his bed.
Then he fell asleep, to dream of nothing more exciting than going fishing in the creek in his old home at Campton. He dreamed he was pulling a big fellow out, and that his pole broke, tumbling him backward upon the grass. He gave a great jump, which awakened him, and he saw the sun shining brightly in through his window.
“My! I must be late!” he exclaimed, jumping up. “I’ll have to hustle.”
He made a hurried breakfast, and arrived at the office a few minutes after eight o’clock, to find the place somewhat excited. A number of reporters were standing about, with copies of morning papers, but they seemed to be more interested in something else than in the journals.
“What’s up?” asked Larry, of some of the younger reporters.
“Big safe-robbery in Brown’s jewelry store,” was the answer.