Yollop eBook

George Barr McCutcheon
This eBook from the Gutenberg Project consists of approximately 95 pages of information about Yollop.

“That’s a very pretty story, Cassius, and no doubt will make a tremendous hit with the jury, but what were you doing with a loaded revolver in your hand, and why were you so full of vituperation,—­I mean, what made you swear so when I—­”

“You let somebody hit you a wallop on the jaw and bang your head against the wall and dance on your ribs, and you’ll cuss worse than I did.”

“But,—­about the revolver?”

“Well, to be honest with you, I probably would have shot you if I hadn’t been so low in my mind.  I won’t deny that.  It’s a sort of principle with us, you see.  No self-respecting burglar wants to be captured by the party he’s tryin’ to rob.  Its so damn’ mortifyin’.  Besides, if that sort of thing happens to you, the police lose all kinds of respect for you and try to use you as a stool-pigeon, if you know what that means.”

“This is most interesting, I must say.  I should like to hear more about it, Mr. Smilk.  I dare say we can have quite a long and edifying chat while we are waiting for the police to respond to our call for help.  In the meantime, you might see if you can get them now.  Spring, three one hundred.”

“As I was sayin’ awhile ago, would you mind puttin’ that gun in your pocket?”

“While you’ve been chinning, Cassius, I have been making a most thrilling and amazing experiment.  Do you call this thing under here a trigger?”

“Yes.  Don’t monkey with it, you—­you—­”

“I’ve been pressing it,—­very gently and cautiously, of course,—­to see just how near I can come to making it go off without actually—­”

“For God’s sake!  Cut that—­Hey, Central!  Give me police headquarters again. ...  Lively, please. ...  Yes, it’s life or death. ...  Come on, Mademoiselle,—­please!”

“That’s the way,” complimented Mr. Yollop.

“By gosh, nobody ever wanted the police more than I do at this minute,” gulped Mr. Smilk.  He was perspiring freely.  “Hello!  Police headquarters? ...  Hustle someone to—­to—­(over his shoulder to Mr. Yollop, in a whisper,)—­quick!  What’s the number of this,—­”

“418 Sagamore Terrace.”

Into the transmitter:  “To 418 Sagamore Terrace, third floor front.  Burglar.  Hurry up!”

Telephone:  “What’s yer name?”

Smilk, to Yollop:  “What is my name?”

Mr. Yollop:  “Crittenden Yollop.”

Smilk, to telephone:  “Crittelyum Yop.”

Telephone, languidly:  “Spell it.”

Smilk:  “Aw, go to—­”

Mr. Yollop:  “After me now,—­Y-o-l-l-o-p.”

Telephone:  “First name.”

Smilk, prompted.  “C-r-i-t-t-e-n-d-e-n.”

Telephone, after interval:  “What floor?”

Smilk:  “Third.”

Telephone:  “Are you sure it’s a burglar, or is it just a noise somewhere?”

Smilk:  “It’s a burglar.  He’s got me covered.”

Telephone:  “What’s that?”

Smilk:  “I say, I’ve got him covered.  Hurry up or he’ll blow my head off—­”

Project Gutenberg
Yollop from Project Gutenberg. Public domain.
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