[THE SLAMBANGAREE.]
(In Two Parts.)
BY R. K. MUNKITTRICK.
Part I.
The other night Reginald was tossing about in his little bed, unable to go to sleep. The dull monotonous ticking of the clock fell upon his ear in a way that drove him almost mad, and the rain pattering upon the window-pane added to his misery, and made him wish for the light of morning as he had never wished for it before. And when the trees moaned in the wind, it filled poor Reginald's mind with dire forebodings, and caused him to bury his curly head deeper in the pillow to deaden the weird refrain that rippled in the blinds with a sort of fiendish playfulness.
And then he heard a soft footfall on the carpet, and, looking up, saw the strangest creature he had ever set eye upon standing grinning by the bedpost. At first Reginald was so frightened that he could say nothing; but when he noticed that the creature didn't move, and that his grin could not hurt him, he found his voice, and said, "Please, Mr. Robber—"
"Did you say robber?" asked the Presence, with angry emphasis.
"I did," replied Reginald, trembling violently; "but it was all your fault, I meant to say Mr. Robertson, but you cut me short before I could pronounce the last syllable."
"I will then pardon you," replied the Presence, which continued quickly, as if to catch Reginald in a lie: "What did you intend to say after robber?"
"I intended to say," replied Reginald, still trembling, "Mr. Robertson, can you tell me what time it is. That clock doesn't strike, and I cannot sleep. If I thought you to be a thief, I would ask you not to take my new locomotive or boxwood tops."