--- title: Improvement Era description: Monthly periodical of the Mormon church, 1897 onward. This library holds the issues of November 1897 to December 1930. authors: - Spring, Everett collections: - periodicals tags: - magazine - improvement-era periodical: Improvement Era volume: 22 number: 9 published: 1919-07 publisher: Young Men’s Mutual Improvement Associations publisher_place: Salt Lake City language: en type: magazine reference: 'Spring, Everett, "An Adventure in the Life of Mr. Horatio Algerion Hardcastle, Burglar," *Improvement Era* 22, no. 9 (July 1919): 805–811.' source: url: https://archive.org/details/improvementera2209unse transcription: Transcribed from the Internet Archive scan of each issue (the item for each issue is named in the issue's own source); unnumbered advertising leaves are omitted, printed page numbers are kept as page markers. identifier: improvementera2209unse start_page: 805 end_page: 811 rights: status: public-domain basis: US publication 1930 or earlier (published 1919-07) source: https://archive.org/details/improvementera2209unse publication_year: 1919 note: The Internet Archive item metadata carries a blanket "© Copyright by Intellectual Reserve, Inc." notice. The library owner judged it inapplicable because this issue was published in 1919, before 1931; a scan-level notice does not restore copyright. --- # An Adventure in the Life of Mr. Horatio Algerion Hardcastle, Burglar HORATIO ALGERION HARDCASTLE, BURGLAR 807 "You get your old coppers iced, and we'll overhaul it," said the landlord, genially. Mr. Hardcastle nodded, and clapping his cap more tightly — on his head vanished round the corner of the alley where he was overtaken by a sudden paroxysm of mirth. II. Mr. Hardcastle at work and Mr. Hardcastle at play were two very different individuals. As a man of leisure he was a gleeful, irresponsible and open-handed companion, given to practical jokes of doubtful taste and humor. With a job in view, he became cautious, silent and observant. It was his invariable rule to work alone, and up to a certain point he was both painstaking and skillful. Throughout the remainder of that long, warm day he busied himself in making out a plan of campaign. His point of attack had been decided on during a casual stroll round earlier in the week. — From information received in the phraseology with which — Mr. Hardcastle was painfully familiar the house in question was occupied by two ladies, sisters, four servants and a pug dog; there were, so far as he could ascertain, no men, the husband of the elder sister having been suddenly called away on business. But, on the other hand, rumor and general appearances conveyed the impression of a well-filled plate closet and handsome — pickings from the drawing room and cabinets to say nothing of jewelry should he deem it worth the risk of venturing above stairs for. The house itself stood conveniently back from the street, a distance of some fifty yards, in the midst of a pleasant garden, with smooth lawns, clumps of flower bushes, a few good-sized trees, and a miniature carriage drive. It was of red brick, three stories high, and, thanks to the builder, the windows gave promise of easy access. By eleven o'clock he was seated at his ease in the midst of the flower bushes, watching the lights go out one by one. Those on the ground floor had already been extinguished, and he himself was in the best of spirits. Half an hour later all the lights were out save one on the third floor. A trim-looking maidservant in cap and apron, sup- ported by a portly woman with a lamp in her hand, whom Mr. Hardcastle promptly and correctly sized up as the cook, had stood for a minute or so in full view, taking a final breath of fresh air and chattering in undertones before locking and bolting the door of the small lean-to conservatory. Twelve o'clock struck. Mr. Hardcastle leisurely slipped a a pair of felt slippers over his boots, and produced successively 108 IMPROVE IEN1 ERA jimmy, a finely tempered drill, and a dark lantern. He adjusted the wick with care, reassured himself that he had matches and one or two other necessaries, not forgetting a very cheap ramshackle revolver, which, even if loaded, would not have frightened a self-respecting cat, but which, unloaded, as it was, Mr. Hardcastle, who did not believe in violent measures, kept solely for moral effect. Still the light in the topmost floor burnt steadily, and Mr. Hardcastle swore gently, using words not loud but deep. "One of them blasted servant gals," said he; "I know 'em. It's a shame, that's wot I calls it, wasting 'er mistress' gas while she reads 'ow the Lady Ermintrude was saved from an horrible death by the handsome man with the black moustache. She'll read till the words begin to dance afore her eyes, and then she'll lay her head on the piller and weep over the hard ways of this bloomin' world — and all the while here am I like a forsaken hedge-hog being debarred from getting to business." There ensued a long pause, and finally the light went out. Mr. Hardcastle stretched himself. "Thank heavens," said he, "end of chapter twenty-seven and the end of the black moustached man. Oh, I know them. I was literary myself once." He crept cautiously up the drive, took his bearings, and commenced a quick-fingered onslaught on the dining room window. It yielded with such extreme ease as to elicit a grunt of professional contempt. Mr. Hardcastle threw up the window, inserted one feltcovered boot, and slithered inside. Now, long experience had taught him one elementary fact, and that was that while an open window in the dark was suspicious, an open window of a lighted room was as Caesar's wife in the eyes of the police. Wherefore he switched on his dark lantern, found a lamp on the table and lighted it, at the same time drawing the curtains ajar to prevent the rays flickering across the lawn should the novel-reading maid awake and feel moved to star-gaze. He stood still for a moment or so, ready to take alarm; but the house was wrapped in silence, and after reassuring himself he softly opened the dining room door and vanished into the innermost recesses of the house. III. As has been previously stated, Mr. Hardcastle was a man of method and industry consequently, by the time his steps were ; turned once more to the dining room door not only had he thoroughly been "through" the more private and portable valu- HORATIO ALGERION HARDCASTLE, BURGLAR 809 ables, but he had made a careful and classified selection, the results all neatly wrapped in soft scraps of linen, tissue paper, and — — a large assortment of dusters to prevent jingling were carefully stowed in a large bag, which he had brought with him for the purpose. It was a goodly weight, and Mr. Hardcastle reflected with pride that there was not a single plated article among the lot. There were, however, a diamond cross and earrings belonging to the married sister, and a double rope of pearls, the property of the younger, which he had come across in neat leather cases at the back of the plate closet. He cautiously opened the dining room door, inserted himself through the narrowest possible opening and stopped dead short, his lips apart, and a cold, damp perspiration starting from his forehead. The room was still lit by the lamp on the table, but when he left the room it had been empty, but now a tall, good-looking man in evening dress, was lolling back in an armchair, a cigarette between his lips, and whisky and soda by his side, and a suit case on the floor by his feet. "Well, my man, I fancy I've caught you rather neatly," said the newcomer, pointing with the forefinger of an immaculately gloved hand. Mr. Hardcastle darted back and whipped out the revolver. The gentleman in the chair smiled languidly, but otherwise he never moved a muscle. "Now, then," said Mr. Hardcastle, "none of yer games. I ain't caught yet— not by a long sight." "Don't be a fool!" retorted the stranger, without moving. "Put that toy away; it's not even loaded. I can see the light — shining through the cylinder chambers the question is, what shall I do with you?" Mr. Hardcastle gasped. "See here, guv-nor " he began. The other interrupted him with a deprecatory wave of the — hand. "My name is Woodward Mr. Woodward. If you wish to speak to me. You, I suppose, are what is called a burglar — real live specimen of what one reads of in the police reports. I don't think much of you, so far as appearances go. I happened to catch sight of the lamp here as I strolled up the walk, so instead of coming in through the door, as usual, I followed your own example and entered by the window. Now, what have you got to say for yourself?" Mr. Hardcastle during this harangue had been gradually backing toward the entrance. Mr. Woodward noticed this, and stretched out an arm. "If you move off that rug," said he, "I shall be obliged to ring the bell and rouse the household." 810 IMPROVEMENT ERA Mr. Hardcastle stopped dead. "I ain't done no harm, sir. I've been druve to it, that's wot I have. I've always run straight up to now; but I've been down on my luck — starving and—" "Kindly modulate your voice," said Mr. Woodward. "The er —ladies of the house are nervous, andI don't wish them to be disturbed unnecessarily. What have you got in that bag? Come on, sharp now, the game's up, and my treatment of you will depend entirely on how little trouble you give." Mr. Hardcastle sighed. He hated parting; but, at the same time, there was just an off-chance that the languid gentleman in the chair might let him go. He deposited the bag on the floor and undid the strings. "Three dozen spoons and forks, sir, a salver, two teapots, a saucedish, six ornamental pieces, and er— — that's all, sir," said Mr. Hardcastle, with a lingering hope that he might yet annex the two precious leather-covered cases. "It's all correct, sir," he added. "I'm a methodical man, "that's wot I am. Look here, guv'ner, fair and square, if I hand's over, wot'.ll yer do? It's the fust slide from the path of virtue." This was a reminiscence of Mr. Hardcastle's memorial visit to a church under compulsion. "I was hard pushed." Mr. Woodward drummed thoughtfully on the table with his finger tips, and frowned in an absent-minded kind of way. "Look here, my man," he said, at last. "I don't want to make it rough for you, and that's a fact. I've known ups and downs myself, though it may seem strange to you, and I should be sorry to drive any poor wretch into a corner. Still, here you are with a bag full of loot, and here am. I, coming back late by — chance and catching you in flagrante delicto, as it were which means in the act. "Now, mind, supposing I let you go off scot free and nothing said, will you promise to turn over a new leaf?" "Look here, guv'nor, I'll take my solemn oath," broke in Mr. Hardcastle; but the other stopped him. "Gently, gently," he said. "I really must ask you to modulate your voice. If once you rouse the good people upstairs I shall be able to do nothing for you, and I shall have no other alternative than to call the police. Now, what special trouble was it that put this temptation in your way? I'm willing to — — believe your story with er with reservations. You can hardly — be a professional thief your methods are so crude, so bungling, that you are evidently a novice." Mr. Hardcastle's blood boiled. As was said before, he took pride in his work, and the languid gentleman's words hurt him. However, he choked back his indignation and grunted a word of assent. HORATIO ALGERION HARDCASTLE, BURGLAR 811 "I suppose," continued Mr. Woodward, suavely, "it's the — usual tale lack of work, the saloon, a wife and family and the rent behind?" "I'm a temperance man, guv'nor," said Mr. Hardcastle, stoutly, "at least, I hardly ever touches anything. It was the — landlord wot druv me to desperation he's a terror, that's wot — "There, there, that'll do," said Mr. Woodward. "'Now, I don't mind giving you a little temporary assistance. How much is it you owe?" Mr. Hardcastle made a rapid mental calculation of the possibilities. "Eighteen dollars, guv'nor," he said hurriedly. Mr. Woodward produced a wad of bills from his pocket and passed him a twenty-dollar bill. "Here is twenty dollars," said he. "Now write down an address where I can find you. You needn't be frightened — shan't want the money back, and I'm not going to turn you over to the police. Only if a man is down, and I feel inclined to help him, I like to look into the case myself." Mr. Hardcastle wrote down glibly an entirely fictitious address with the stump of a pencil, and slid it across the table. Mr. Woodward glanced at it, nodded his thanks and slipped it into his pocket. "Now, then," said he, "I will wish you a very good evening and look here, I'm not given to preaching, but take my advice and turn over a new leaf. This sort of thing isn't in your line at all. You'd only sink from bad to worse. To be a burglar in itself is terrible enough, but to be a failure. — No thanks not a word. There, go now." Mr. Hardcastle snivelled and made a furtive movement towards the bag, in the hopes of recovering the jewel cases unobserved. But the other man was too quick. '"Never mind about that," he said, quietly. "I'll arrange about the things when I have seen you get away in safety, l^on't look so nervous, man no one's going to hurt you. Here, if your teetotal principles will — stand it, help yourself to a drink it's on the sideboard there and try and pull yourself together." — — Mr. Hardcastle did so meekly a three-finger peg glanced once more at the bag, and with a mournful eye moved toward the window. Mr. Woodward gently pulled back the curtain, "I will save the noise of unbolting the door," said he. Mr. Hardcastle slid out a leg. A moment's remorse disturbed as his fingers clutched the window sill. "S'long, guv'nor; ye'r a good sort that's wot's the matter with you." 812 IMPROVEMENT ERA Mr. Woodward smiled. "I'd have been sorry to have had to hand you over," said he. "Good-night. Don't get into any more trouble, and if you want a bit of help or advice, come and see me again, before 10 or after 6. Now off with you, and be careful." Mr. Hardcastle vanished into the outer darkness. Mr. Woodward closed the curtains again, carefully, lit a cigarette and emptied the contents of the bag on to the floor. "Lucky I came in time," he commented, as he surveyed the pile. Then one by one he transferred the bundles quickly to his suit case. A quarter of an hour later the lamp in the room was extinguished, and Mr. Woodward, suit case in hand, also emerged from the window. It seemed heavy, and avoiding the gravel drive, he trod softly and delicately on the bordering turf. — "A clumsy fool," said he, "a very clumsy fool amateurish to a degree; but what I really wonder is, who does the house belong to? He turned out of the gate, lit a third cigarette [a characteristic of his kind — Editor] and strolled nonchalantly on his way, whistling a gay little tune. Washington, D. C. The Sum of Life To strive! To climb, to scale the threatening brow of beetling crags. Unto the heights, Where strong winds struggle for supremacy, Tho' feet, that slip and sometimes lose the way, Must bruised and bleeding take again the trail, To hold the vantage ground thro' valor won, In vanguard of the ranks that hope leads on; This is the sum of life. To strive! Thank God for it the wonder working gift, the privilege ! That lifts the soul Above the cloud, above the cloy of earth, And crowns it for its final destiny, A sovereign infinite, divine of birth. To strive! to strive! to strive! This is the slogan true of sterling worth, This is the sum of life. Grace Ingles Frost. ^iii mi ii mi ii r ii ii mi ii idi i ii ii ii ii i iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiitiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiinniiiiiiiiiiilliiiiiiiiililMiiMiiiii millllllllllimilMMIIMIimillt: I In this, the Birthmonth of American Liberty, in this, the year of Peace-making, in these, the Days of Struggle, the Time of Great Endeavors, of High- est Purpose, a wide Light of Hope shines from the sky that has been filled with Storm Clouds of Far- stretched, Devastating War. All is not yet Calm; from horizon to horizon the lightnings flash, the thunder rolls, but still the Light grows broader. The Minds of Men are set on New Ideals. From the lurid Storms of War, men Hope for Peace; a Peace that shall insure the Right of Nations, and of the Individual Man. Intellect has vied with Intellect, New Means have been Devised, old Modes have been Improved for the Destruction of Mankind ; Earth, Water and Air have been Scenes of terrific Combats. Death has been sent from the Skies, has come from the Waves and stalked across the Land. Yet Civilization has kept pace with Savageness and Brutality. Tender- ness of Heart and Nobleness of Soul have counter- poised the agents of Cruelty and Hate. The Light that comes is brighter for the Darkness that has been. Wars unnumbered have Scourged the Race, Myriads unjustly have been slain. Let the Sword be Sheathed. Let the Intellect and Strength of Men be used, not for the Individual and the Nation alone, but for All the World. ALFRED LAMBOURNE. iftmmi iiiiii:iiriiii>iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiHiiiiirniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiMiitiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiMiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiMiiiiiiiiiiiiitiiiiiiiiiiitiiii >=