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Updated: June 14, 2025
The man placed the bags inside the kitchen door; and, with a doubtful look at his custodian, stepped out into the street, and walked, as he was directed to do, toward the Grand Central station. Van Bibber kept just behind him, and kept turning the question over in his mind as to what he ought to do.
The snow had stopped falling, and everything lay quiet and still as though it were cut in marble. And then suddenly across the lawn, came a black, bedraggled object on four legs, limping painfully, and lifting its feet as though there were lead on them. "Great heavens!" cried Van Bibber, "it's the dog!" He was out of the room in a moment and down into the hall.
Van Bibber leaned easily against the wall and read the signs about him, and kept one eye on a policeman across the street. The Object was choking and cursing through his breakfast. It did not seem to agree with him. Whenever he stopped Van Bibber would point with his stick to a still unfinished dish, and the Object, after a husky protest, would attack it as though it were poison.
Several gentlemen were pointing out Van Bibber to one of the Pinkerton detectives, who had a struggling messenger-boy in his grasp. "These gentlemen say you gave this boy some money, sir," said the detective. "He tried to do a welsh with it, and I caught him just as he was getting over the fence. How much and on what horse, sir?"
"Yes, ma'am yes, sir," answered the little girl. Van Bibber put his hands on the arms of the throne and vaulted up beside the girl, and pulled out the flower in his button-hole and gave it to her. "Now," prompted the wardrobe woman, "what do you say to the gentleman?" "Thank you, sir," stammered the little girl.
The house was tightly closed, as though some one was lying inside dead, and the streets were still empty. Van Bibber could think of nothing in his appearance so dreadful as to frighten an honest man, so he decided the face he had had a glimpse of must belong to a dishonest one.
"Yes," the woman answered, shortly, and bent her head to smooth out the child's stage dress across her knees. Van Bibber touched the little girl's head with his hand and found that she was asleep, and so let his hand rest there, with the curls between his fingers. "Are are you her mother?" he asked, with a slight inclination of his head. He felt quite confident she was not; at least, he hoped not.
"You haven't got much heart," said Van Bibber, finally. "You're a pretty poor sort of a burglar, I should say." "What's the use?" said the man, fiercely. "I won't go back I won't go back there alive. I've served my time forever in that hole. If I have to go back again s'help me if I don't do for a keeper and die for it. But I won't serve there no more."
She is as dead to me as though she were buried with her mother, and it is nothing to me what she is or what her life is. I know in time what it will be. She has begun earlier than I had supposed, that is all; but she is nothing to me." The man stopped and turned his back to Van Bibber, and hid his head in his hands, with his elbows on the mantelpiece. "I care too much," he said.
"Yes," the woman answered, shortly, and bent her head to smooth out the child's stage dress across her knees. Van Bibber touched the little girl's head with his hand and found that she was asleep, and so let his hand rest there, with the curls between his fingers. "Are are you her mother?" he asked, with a slight inclination of his head. He felt quite confident she was not; at least, he hoped not.
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