"Mistakes
sometimes happen, you know, in the best regulated basements. Might be
just a man takin' the meters, or a plumber, or something like that."
"By George, that's so!" says T. Waldo, chirkin' up. "But--er--must I
go down there? Suppose he should be a burglar, after all?"
"We'd be three to one, not countin' Mrs. Flynn," says I.
"Would you help, really?" he asks eager. "You see, I'm not very
strong. And Tidman--well, you can't count much on him. Besides, how
does one know a burglar by sight?"
"They don't wear uniforms, that's a fact," says I; "but I might ask him
what he was doin' down there and call for proof. Then, if he was only
takin' the meter, why--"
"Of course," says Waldo. "We will--er--you'll do that for me, will you
not? Come along, Tidman. You too, Peters. We'll just find out who
the fellow is."
I must say, it's kind of a draggy rush line they formed, Tidman havin'
to be almost pushed, and Peters keepin' well in the rear. I finds
myself leadin' the assault, with Waldo a bad second, but tellin' me
which turns to make and urgin' Tidman to follow close.
Sure enough, though, there on the laundry floor we discovers the
victorious Mrs. Flynn, a wide, husky party, with something flattened
underneath.
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