going too."

"But you mustn't," I insists.

"Hush!" says she. "I shall."

And she did. So we begins our first burglar hunt as a twosome, and I
must say there's other sports I enjoy more. Out across the lawn we
sneaks, steppin' as easy as we can, and keepin' in the shadow most of
the time.

"Guess he must have skipped," says I.

"But he was here only a moment ago," says Vee. "Don't you know, we saw
him---- Oh, oh!"

I don't blame her for gaspin'. Not twenty feet ahead of us, crouchin'
down in the cabbage patch, is the villain. Just why he should be tryin'
to hide among a lot of cabbage plants not over three inches high, I
don't stop to think. All I knew was that here was someone prowlin'
around at night on my premises, and all in a flash I begins to see red.
Swingin' Vee behind me, I unlimbers the old pistol and cocks it. I
didn't care whether this was the open season for burglars or not. I
wanted to get this one, and get him hard.

Must have been a minute or more that I had him covered, tryin' to steady
my arm so I could keep the muzzle pointed straight at his back, when all
of a sudden he lifts his right hand and begins scratchin' his ear.
Somehow, that breaks the spell. Why should a burglar hump himself on his
hands and knees in a truck patch and stop to scratch his ear?

"Hey, you!" I sings out real crisp.

Maybe that ain't quite the way to open a line of chat with a midnight
marauder. I've been kidded about it some since; but at the time it
sounded all right. And it had the proper effect. He comes up on his toes
with his hands in the air, like he was worked by springs.

"That's right; keep your paws up," says I. "And, remember, if you go to
makin' any funny moves----"

"Why, Torchy!" exclaims Vee, grabbin' my shootin' arm. "It's Leon!"

"Wha-a-a-at!" says I, starin' at this wabbly party among the coldslaw.

But it's Professor Battou, all right. He's costumed in a night-shirt, an
old overcoat, and a pair of rubbers; and he certainly does look odd,
standin' there in the moonlight with his elbows up and his knees
knockin' one another.

"Well, well, Leon!" says I, sighin' relieved. "So it's you, is it? And
we had you all spotted as a second-story worker. All right; you don't
need to hold the pose any longer. But maybe you'll tell us what you're
crawlin' around out here in the garden for at this time of night."

He tried to, but he's had such a scare thrown into him that his
conversation works are all