All Story Magazine, December 1913 — page 21: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

A THIEVES’ COMEDY. “That Rob Roy Gang is quite an in- teresting company of thieves?” The clerk smiled in a superior man- ner, hung my key upon the proper hook, and, coming back to me, declared in admiration : “They’re the slickest bunch in New York when they get goin’. You'll find them workin’ Westchester to-night, Montclair to-morrow, and Fifth Ave- nue the week after that. Any gezink they’ve got their mark on might as well cough up and save trouble.”’ “Jove! Do you know how came to acquire their name? ”’ “Sure. Some newspaperman fig- ured out that the red and black squares on the cards they leave behind when they clean out a guy was the Rob Roy tartan you know — the stuff the Scotchies make kilts outa.” mF abe. And I imagined, as I left the hotel to keep my appointment at Campbell's club, that the police of New York would have paid handsomely for my vision. they CHAPTER IV. ROLLINS. I HAVE purposely refrained from giving the name of the club in which I met Campbell that morning. It is very select—a sort of American edi- tion of the Marlborough, minus the awful silence that hangs over the latter, with a perpetual funereal effect. Mem- bership in it constitutes the last word upon the question of a man’s right to be acknowledged as being perfectly re- spectable, financially, socially, and morally. Campbell had breakfasted there. He came out of the dining-room as I en- tered the reception-hall; and the cu- cumber can’t be compared with him. It is cool in a chilly way, whereas Campbell's calm wasn’t in the least ob- vious. It was so complete, so natural and easy, one did not notice it at all. The sight of him made it still more 731 difficult to believe what I suspected. It was incongruous, inexplicable, and I was sure I should wake up presently. But even his generous crop of dark red hair seemed to substantiate the evi- dence I had against him. All he need- ed, I thought, was a beard of a similar hue. The picture of Scott’s hero and the cattie-thief ancestor he claimed for his own would then be complete. His height and breadth seemed to lose some of their hugeness in the day- light, but he was still massive; and though his mouth and eyes and jaw all gave evidence of power of another order there was a wealth of sympathy and fellowship in his face. He greeted me with a smile and a “Good morning” that came rumbling from the depths of him, and his hand- shake was something to remember. It was I who was embarrassed and afraid as we met, and I who quaked as we entered the smoking-room and walked across the floor in the teeth of the few members in the room at that hour. But it was instantly apparent that my companion was a man of worth in clubdom. Almost every one in the place greeted him with the easy familiarity of old friends, and the studied “ Good morning, sir,” of men just sufficiently acquainted to be con- scious of one another’s worth. As we passed a white - haired old gentleman he put his paper down and looked over the top of his glasses at Campbell, who saluted him sonorously. “Good morning, judge.” “Good morning, Robert. a minute?” Asking my pardon and indicating where we would sit Campbell talked to the judge for a little while; and I watched him, pondering the irony of it. He appeared to be in a very good humor that morning, and though, when he rejoined me, he talked of nothing in particular, I listened very attentively in spite of the hundred and one things crowding upon my mind; and, of course, I could hardly throw the Rob Roy Gang at his head in his own club. Have you comicloooks.com