"Well—well?"
"Supposin' they've dropped some of it in the path."
We rushed out and searched the path, nothing there. We searched the road—one individual almond dish had fallen. I took it and hammered it beyond recognition and flung it into the pond. It was criminal, but I did it.
And then we went into the house and danced some more. We were happy.
Of course we raised an alarm—after sufficient time to carefully dress, and fill the lantern with oil. Other houses too had been robbed before we had been visited, but as they were occupied by old inhabitants, the occupants had nonchalantly gone to sleep again after surrendering their small change. Our exploit was quite the sensation. With great difficulty we assumed the proper public attitude of shock and despair. The following day I wrote full particulars to the Insurance Company, with a demand for the indemnity.
"You'll never get the full amount," said Clara.
"Why not?"
"You never do. They'll send a man to ask disagreeable questions and to beat us down."
"Let him come."
"You'll see."