boy turned, and moistening dry
lips, spoke hoarsely and with apparent effort.

"Oh, mister--don't go for to--croak a guy as--as ain't done nothing!"

"You broke into my house!"

"But I--haven't took nothin'!"

"Because I happened to catch you!"

"But--but--oh, sir," stammered the boy, taking off his cap and fumbling
with it while he stared wide-eyed at the threatening revolver, "I--I
ain't a real thief--cross me heart and hope to die, I ain't! Don't croak
me, sir!"

"But why in the world not?" enquired Mr. Ravenslee. "Alone and unaided
I have captured a desperate criminal, a bloodthirsty villain--caught him
in the very act of burgling a cabinet where I keep my cigars of
price--and Mr. Brimberly's, of course! Consequently to--er--croak you
is my privilege as a citizen; it's all quite just and proper--really,
I ought to croak you, you know."

"I--ain't desprit, mister," the boy pleaded, "I ain't a reg'lar crook;
dis is me first try-out--honest it is!"

"But then I prefer to regard you as a deep-dyed desperado--you must be
quite--er--sixteen! Consequently it is my duty to croak you on the spot,
or hand you over to the police--"

"No, no!" cried the boy, his tremulous hands reached out in a passion
of supplication, "not d' cops--don't let th' p'lice get me. Oh, I never
took nothin' from nobody--lemme go! Be a sport and let me beat it,
please, sir!"

All Mr. Ravenslee's chronic languor seemed to have returned as, leaning
back in the deep-cushioned chair, he regarded this youthful malefactor
with sleepy eyes, yet eyes that missed nothing of the boy's quivering
earnestness as he continued, breathlessly:

"Oh, I ain't a real crook, I never done nothin' like this before, an'
I never will again if--if you'll only let me chase meself--"

"And now," sighed Mr. Ravenslee, "I'll trouble you for the 'phone,
yonder."

"Are ye goin' to--call in de cops?"

"That is my intention. Give me the 'phone."

"No!" cried the boy, and springing before the telephone he stood there,
trembling but defiant.

"Give me that telephone!"

"Not much I won't!"

"Then of course I must shoot you!"

The boy stood with head up-flung and fists tight-clenched; Mr. Ravenslee
lounged in his chair with levelled pistol. So they fronted each
other--but, all at once, with a sound between a choke and a groan, the
lad covered his face.

"Go on!" he whispered hoarsely, "go on--what's keepin' you? If it's the
cops or croaking, I--I'd rather croa