Two robberies had occurred in less than two weeks at the place, and both were shrouded in mystery. The first had been explained away very reasonably. A window that was almost hid by vines had been left open, and through this, a "nigga," as they put it, had made his entrance and gotten away, carrying with him a suit of clothes belonging to one of the roomers, who kept himself pretty well soaked with liquor; this roomer happened to be employed at a wholesale liquor house, and was, therefore, able to drink with economy. Sam was his name, but he was not, however, the one who owned the L. & N. R.R. But Sam was an easy go-lucky and didn't care whether school kept or not; and, likewise, didn't make a big noise if something did crawl in through the window, and steal a new thirty-five dollar suit.
As was stated, it was explained, John Moore lost an old derby the same time—at least, this was how he reported it. The green stain upon the window-sill, from the vines his knees crushed, was further evidence of the ingress and the egress. Considerable indignation was shown by Moore, and a great many words were employed over the affair; but, in due time it had died away and was forgotten, when the second came to pass.
The victim this time happened to be a gloomy and forlorn creature, who could well boast that no miscegenation had prostituted his ancestors, and whose teeth, in the night, flashed like a diamond necklace. Griffin was his name, and he did not shoot craps, or fight, or get drunk, and Wyeth didn't think he drank, until he saw the Mis' go to make his bed one day, and, in turning back the pillow, revealed a half pint of John.
Griffin reported that it was employed as a medicine, and Wyeth allowed it to go at that, but indulged a smile upon Griffin that meant more. Wyeth had a way of joking with the eyes that kept him out of difficulties, but convicted and judged those near him, and they could only laugh and look guilty.
One of the other good things we know of Griffin, is that he read the Bible, and nothing else, and said so; moreover, he deplored the reading of anything else, declaring it to be contrary to the laws of God. Griffin rarely said Jesus, and never "Jaysus." And—yes, he was a Sunday school teacher, and went to services to a church that was at the other side of town; he shouted when the preacher delivered a soul-stirring sermon, and expected to go to Heaven when he died. Only one thing did Griffin indulge in, though he was careful to keep that to himself, and that was woman—but we are a long way from our story. And still, we cannot leave it, this part of it, until we make known that she was a "high yellow" which is perhaps unnecessary to state, for when the color is like Griffins', they scorn all other kind.
The robber this time employed a more machination method, and he was a very congenial robber also. Out of consideration for Griffin's regular attendance at church, he left an old greasy suit that, due to the great amount of the foreign matter it contained, was likely to last him until finances would enable him to restock for the benefit of the robber.
This robbery occurred one night when he was away, and did not return until the following morning, which was in itself singular, for Griffin was rarely away. It was, like the other, mysterious. Griffin was a miner, and since he would not—so 'twas said—pay twenty-five cents a week for warm water and a towel to clean himself at the mines, he preferred to sleep in the kitchen, because he was unfit to occupy any other portion of the house, unless it was the attic. And since there was none to this house, we leave him in the kitchen, where he slept in a dirty, but warm bed, and kept his clothes—he had some pride—in the strongest trunk Wyeth thought he had ever seen. On the outside, he kept it locked with the strongest Yale spring. With all the high-priced advertising done in regard to the safety of such locks, this robber didn't seem to give a hang, but, with a steel poker, he had twisted and twisted, until Mr. Yale had resigned himself to the inevitable, and permitted ingress. Within were four nice, clean suits, awaiting Griffin's subtle occasions.
Legs, Wyeth and Glenview, who were very agreeable roomers, didn't hear of it until the second morning. And they might not have known then, if it had not happened that they were together in the adjoining room, and overheard Griffin crying over the loss. That happened to be Friday. Legs had become something of a hero, with his successful running down of the murderer, and now played, very successfully, the part of a man. Legs did not positively condone the light fingered method. When they had been led, by their curiosity, to investigate, and had returned to the room, he remarked:
"It beats Hell the way this place continues to be robbed!"
"It is indeed singular," commented Glenview, whose English was always the most careful. And he never swore.