"I hope," said Mr. Braithwait, gently, "I won't offend you when I say I never heard of those gentlemen." "Is it possible!" "Honestly, I never did." "You have surely heard of Red Leary?" "I can't recall his name." "George Post? Louis Ludlum? Pete McCartney? Miles Ogle?" "Don't know them." "Perhaps," sarcastically, "you don't read the papers?" "Yes, I do, and I have a good memory. I can say without boasting that I have on my tongue's end all the professional, literary and artistic names in America, and many in Europe. In my library I have many biographies, but none of which a burglar is the theme, nor do I recall the name of a celebrated criminal, unless," pleasantly, "he has been hanged." "Yet there _are_ famous names in our profession," persisted the young burglar, somewhat sullenly. "Oh, yes," admitted Mr. Braithwait, taking a small drink of claret. "Literature has preserved Claude Duval, Jack Sheppard, Dick Turpin--all hung--Fra Diavolo, who was shot, and even our own James and Younger boys; and I have heard vaguely of one Billy the Kid somewhere out West. In a general sense, literature and the drama are saturated with bandits, brigands and outlaws, sometimes comical, sometimes heroic, but you will excuse me if I maintain that you stand on a different footing. Those fellows always had a poetical backing; somebody or something had driven them to their illegal calling, but you can scarcely make a similar claim." [Illustration: "WHAT IS YOUR ANNUAL INCOME AS A BURGLAR?"] "I don't know about that," protested Baxter, doggedly. "Who'd give _me_ a job?" "Did you ever try?" "No; nor I ain't goin' to!" "As I supposed. Honest work is plentiful, therefore you are absolutely without excuse. No one has usurped your name and fortune, stolen your ancestral home or intended bride; neither have you been outlawed for your political or religious beliefs, or unjustly accused of crime." The big burglar looked extremely blank at this pointed address, and took a grumbling drink of whiskey. Mr. Graham promptly came to his companion's relief. "You have made out a _prima facie_ case, as the lawyers say, but the fact remains that there _is_ a fascination in the life we lead, and some romance. There is mystery about it, for one thing, and danger for another. Then we certainly have the sympathy of a certain class of society, when we are prisoners." "Is not the sympathy to which you allude confined to murderers, especially those who kill their wives?" "As a rule, yes," admitted Graham; "but the people, who have sympathy for murderers, generally have such a superabundance that they can spare some for us. I have known burglars to receive six bouquets in a single day, and from real ladies, too."