"Why don't you send a wireless message?" suggested Mollie. "They've got an office on board, and you can telegraph to him."
"First rate," said the old man. "I'd forgotten that." And the Unwiseman sat down and wrote the following dispatch:
Dear Mr. Burgular:
Please do not steal my kitchen stove. If you need a stove steal something else like the telephone book or that empty bottle of Woostershire Sauce standing on the parlor mantel-piece with the daisy in it, and sell them to buy a new stove with the money. I've had that stove for ten years and it has only just learned how to cook and it would be very annoying to me to have to get a new one and have to teach it how I like my potatoes done. You know the one I mean. It's the only stove in the house, so you can't get it mixed up with any other. If you do I shall persecute you to the full extent of the law and have you arrested for petty parsimony when I get back. If you find yourself strongly tempted to steal it the best thing to do is to keep it red hot with a rousing fire on its insides so that it will be easier for you to keep your hands off.
Yours trooly,
The Unwiseman.
P.S. Take the poker if you want to but leave the stove. It's a wooden poker and not much good anyhow.
Yours trooly,
The Unwiseman.
"There!" he said as he finished writing out the message. "I guess that'll fix it all right."
"It-tortoo," whistled Whistlebinkie through the top of his hat.
"What?" said Mollie, severely.
"It-ought-to-fix-it," repeated Whistlebinkie.