“Well, you might have done so—women have such a detestation of robbers, except when they are in jail. The pleasure of your visit—I hinted that I could extract pleasure from adversity—lies in the fact that it brings me in contact with a profession I have previously known only by hearsay. I suppose I may take it for granted you gentlemen are experts?”
“NO VIOLENCE, JIM!”
“We’ve been there before,” said Baxter, coarsely.
“If an experience of fourteen years is any guaranty, then I am an expert,” said Graham, with a certain air of pride in his tones. “Our friend there,” nodding at Baxter, “has, I believe, been in the profession since childhood; while Mr.”—indicating Montgomery with his cigar—“you’ll excuse my not mentioning names?—is a beginner. A skilled workman, I admit, but this is only his second year.”
“I don’t wonder that he”—and Mr. Braithwait glanced slightly at Baxter,—“remains in the business, but that you should follow the vocation for fourteen years surprises me greatly.”
“Indeed?” queried Graham, with perceptible stiffness. “Why?”
“Because you appear to be a sensible man, and I should not think the business would pay. What is your annual income as a burglar?”
“On an average, I should say three thousand a year.”