by Thomas Winthrop Hall.
Mr. Callaghan was busily engaged in an inspection of silverware that seemed to interest him exceedingly. He examined each object carefully, often stopping long enough to test the particular object with his teeth, or even to bend it. At the same time his actions were quiet, and, one might say, reserved. He did not appear to care to be noticed.[[1]]
He was a rather tall young fellow, carelessly dressed, as they say in novels, and he had a pale face, like a student’s. One might, indeed, have thought him a poor student, were it not for his eyes, which, instead of looking tired and dreamy, like a student’s, were exceedingly active and restless. On the whole, his face and his general appearance were not pre-possessing. Indeed, the policeman on the beat most frequented by Mr. Callaghan in social life, reported him at the Precinct House as “a general tough--suspicious.”
Mr. Callaghan, although very young, had already learned the value of exceeding caution. Hence, he was almost noiseless; and he inspected the silverware in the very mild light of a half-opened dark lantern. A happy smile played around the corners of his face for a while, for the silverware he was examining proved to be of the finest and newest, and bore the monogram of a famous New York family. For that matter, the entire surroundings of Mr. Callaghan, at that time, were of the richest. The very sideboard at which he labored was worth a small fortune, and the cut glass upon it looked very beautiful in the mellow light. There were rich red tints in some of the glassware, occasioned by their contents, but Mr. Callaghan did not stop to examine them. He did not believe in drinking during business hours. The time was something after midnight.
Mr. Callaghan was aroused from his pre-occupation by a faint click. It sounded very much like the click of the trigger, as a revolver is cocked. ’Twas a trifle startling, but he did not lose his presence of mind. He faced around like a flash, and turned off the rays of his dark lantern. He knew it was almost useless to take the latter precaution, however, for he was well informed, and knew that, in the houses of the rich of to-day, it required but the pressure of a button to turn on a full stream of electric lights throughout an entire floor. The sudden burst of light came, just as he expected it would, and as it did so, he heard a voice say “Don’t dare to move!”
He was more startled by the voice than he was by the sudden glare of electric light, for it was the voice of a young girl!! Mr. Callaghan blinked a few times, took a good look, and then his thin face broadened a trifle into a smile. At the other end of the room stood a very pale but resolute girl in a pink wrapper. She held a little gold-mounted revolver, of a calibre so small that Mr. Callaghan[Callaghan] but for his natural politeness, would have laughed at it outright, and she was biting her lip, for she was apparently rather nervous. The revolver was pointed in Mr. Callaghan’s[Callaghan’s] direction, but alas! the hand that held it was shaking very perceptibly[[2]]....
Callaghan grinned. “Isn’t it rather late for you to be out?” he asked her.
“Don’t dare to move,” she replied; “I know precisely what to do. Papa told me before he went away. I’m going to sound the burglar alarm and have you arrested; then you will be sent to State’s Prison.”