They were not classical, but the young lady seemed to enjoy them immensely. They were quite unlike what she had been accustomed to hear, and perhaps for that reason she enjoyed them the more.
“I think you sing splendidly,” she said.
Of course Paul blushed, and put in a modest disclaimer. Still he felt pleased, and decided that Jennie Cunningham was the nicest girl he had ever met.
“But what would she say,” he thought, “if she could see the miserable place I live in?” and the perspiration gathered on his face at the mere thought.
At ten o’clock Mrs. Cunningham suggested that it was time to go to bed.
“Paul, you will sleep in a little bedroom adjoining the library,” she said.
“All right, ma’am.”
“Come with me and I will show you your bedroom.”
It was a pleasant room, though small, and seemed to Paul the height of luxury.
“Shall I leave with you my husband’s revolver?” asked the lady.
“Yes, ma’am, I would like it.”
“Do you understand the use of revolvers?”
“Yes; I have practiced some with them in a shooting gallery.”
“I hope there will be no occasion to use it. I don’t think there will. But it is best to be prepared.”
Paul threw himself on the bed in his uniform in order to be better prepared to meet any midnight intruder.
“It won’t do to sleep too sound,” he thought, “or the house might be robbed without my knowing it.”
He was soon fast asleep. It might have been because he had the matter on his mind that about midnight he woke up. A faint light had been left burning in the chandelier in the library. Was it imagination on Paul’s part that he thought he heard a noise in the adjoining room? Instantly he was on the alert.
“It may be a burglar!” he thought, with a thrill of excitement.
He got up softly, reached for the revolver, and with a stealthy step advanced to the door that opened into the library.
What he saw was certainly startling.
A man, tall and broad shouldered, was on his knees before the safe, preparing to open it.
“What are you doing there?” demanded the telegraph boy, firmly.
The man sprang to his feet, and confronted Paul standing with a revolver in his hand pointed in his direction.
“O, it’s a kid!” he said, contemptuously.
“What are you doing there?” repeated Paul.
“None of yer business! Go back to bed!”
“Leave this house or I fire!”
The man thought of springing upon the boy, but there was something in his firm tone that made him think it best to parley. A revolver, even in a boy’s hand, might prove formidable.
“Go to bed, or I’ll kill you!” said the burglar, with an ugly frown.
“I will give you two minutes to leave this room and the house!” said Paul. “If you are here at the end of that time I fire!”
There was an expression of baffled rage on the face of the low browed ruffian as he stood bending forward, as if ready to spring upon the undaunted boy.
CHAPTER V
AN EXCITING INTERVIEW
For a full minute Paul and the burglar faced each other without either moving. The telegraph boy of course waited for some aggressive movement on the part of his opponent. In that case he would not hesitate to fire. He felt the reluctance natural to any boy of humane instincts to take human life, and resolved, if possible, only to disable the ruffian. His heart quickened its pulsations, but in manner he was cool, cautious and collected. If the burglar had seen any symptoms of timidity or wavering, he would have sprung upon Paul. As it was, he was afraid to do so, and was enraged at himself because he felt cowed and intimidated by a boy. He resolved to inspire fear in Paul if he could.
“I have a great mind to kill you,” he growled.
“Two can play at that game,” said Paul, undaunted.
“Look here! You are making a fool of yourself. You are risking your life for nothing.”
“I am only doing my duty,” said Paul, firmly.
“The kid’s in earnest,” thought the burglar. “I must try him on another tack.
“Look here,” he said, changing his tone. “You are a poor boy, ain’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Just you lower that weapon, and don’t interfere with me, and I will make it worth your while.”
“What do you mean?” asked Paul, who, however, suspected the burglar’s meaning.
“I mean this,” said the intruder, in an insinuating tone. “Let me open the safe and make off with the contents, and I’ll give you a liberal share of it.”
“What do you take me for?” demanded Paul, indignantly.
“For a boy, of course. What do you care for the people in the house? They are rich and can afford to lose what will make us rich. Let me know where you live, and I’ll deal squarely with you. I mean it. All you’ve got to do is to go back to bed, and they’ll think you slept through and didn’t see me at all. What do you say?”
“I say no a thousand times!” answered Paul, boldly. “I may be poor all my life long, but I won’t be a thief.”
The burglar’s face expressed the rage he felt. It was very hard for him to resist the impulse to spring upon Paul, but the resolute mien of the boy satisfied him that it would be very dangerous.
“You refuse then?” he said, sullenly.
“Yes; you insult me by your proposal.”
“I wish I had brought a pistol; then you wouldn’t have dared speak to me in that way.”
Paul was relieved to hear this. He had concluded that the burglar was unarmed, but didn’t know it positively. Now he could dismiss all fear.
“Well,” he said, “are you going?”
The burglar eyed our hero during a minute of indecision, and decided that his plan was a failure. He certainly could not open the safe within range of a loaded revolver, and should he attack Paul, would not only risk his life, but rouse the house, and fall into the hands of the police, a class of men he made it his business to avoid. It was a bitter pill to swallow, but he must submit.
“Will you promise not to shoot if I agree to leave the house?”
“Yes.”
“Will you promise not to start the burglar alarm, but allow me to escape without interference?”
“Yes, if you will agree never to enter this house again.”
“All right!”
“You promise?”
“Yes, I do.”
“Then I’ll go. If you break your word, boy, you’ll wish you had never been born,” he added, fiercely. “I’d hunt you night and day after I got out of jail, and kill you like a dog.”
“You need not be afraid. I will keep my word.” There was something in Paul’s tone and manner that inspired confidence.
“You ain’t a bad sort!” said the burglar, paying an involuntary tribute to the boy’s staunch honesty. “You’re a cool kind of kid, any way. What an honor you’d make to our profession!”
Paul could not help smiling.
“I