As he rose from the table I noticed the bag containing his plunder. Unless Minerva was an absolute innocent she would suspect that all was not right when he picked it up, but luckily at that moment she went out to the pantry to put away the milk, or something, and during her absence he picked it up with great nonchalance and walked out of the room, bowing to Ethel, who made a little gesture of repugnance when the real nature of his work was brought home to her in so concrete a manner. I followed him out to the front door, where he deposited the bag on the step and said very suggestively, “I believe I’ll give Minerva a tip if you have no objection. She deserves it.” “Why, I have no objection,” said I, “but it isn’t necessary.” “Pardon me if I differ,” said he, good naturedly, holding out his hand. And then I understood that I was being held up. “How much do you want to give her,” said I, wishing now that he was far away. But his demand was very reasonable—comparatively speaking,—for he said, “I think that five dollars and a quarter would be a fair amount for me to give. She may not get every cent, but I’ve talked a good deal to-night and the laborer is worthy of his hire. You’re a decent sort of fellow, or I might increase the amount.” “You’ll have to come up stairs for it,” said I, “I never carry much in my pajamas.” He followed me up stairs, his eyes roving all over the place. “There must be a lot of high thinking done in this establishment,” said he, as he looked at the sparsely decorated walls. “It was a high old thought to get you to pose as my friend. If Minerva stays with us I’ll think of you, and I wish that you might be induced to—” “Don’t, that’s cant. You may think you mean it, but you don’t. If you read in to-morrow’s paper that I had been arrested, you wouldn’t drop one tear. You live your life, and I’ll live mine. If you ever have a chance to do a man a good turn, go ahead and do it, but I won’t lie awake nights wondering whether you’ve done it or not.” “No, I suppose you’re not given to lying awake nights, but you may lie awake days and ponder on a good many things.” “Don’t you believe it, my Christian friend,” said the burglar as we walked back to the kitchen, “I sleep the sleep of the just, and the reason I’m just, is because I never rob a man that I know to be poor.” We had now come down stairs again, and he went out into the kitchen, and I heard him say to Minerva,