The Burglar and the Blizzard: A Christmas Story | Page 7

lot of things in my time."
"Well, I don't want to hear about them," said Geoffrey, who had no
intention of being drawn into an intimate interchange. The burglar
looked more surprised than angered at this shortness, and only said:
"Would you have any objection to my putting a match to that fire?"
"No," said Geoffrey, and McVay, with wonderful dexterity, managed to
start a cheering blaze with his left hand.
For a few minutes Geoffrey's determined attention to his book
discouraged his companion, but presently rapping the pages of Tristram
Shandy with the back of his hand, he exclaimed:

"Sterne! Ah, there was a man! Something of my own type, too, it
sometimes strikes me. Capable, you know, really a genius, but so
unfortunately different from other people. Ordinary standards meant
nothing to him--too original--sees life from another standpoint, entirely.
That's me! I--"
"Sit down," roared Geoffrey.
"Oh, it's nothing, nothing," said McVay, "only I talk better on my feet."
"Well, you wouldn't talk as well with a bullet in you."
McVay sank back again in his chair. "Yes," he said, "that's me. Why,
Holland, I have no doubt you would be surprised if you knew the
number of things that I can do--that I am really proficient in. Anything
with the hands," he waved his fingers supplely in the air, "is no trouble
to me at all. I have at once a natural skill that most people take a
lifetime to acquire."
"I'm told there's work for all where you are going."
McVay looked a trifle puzzled for an instant, but never allowing
himself to remain at a loss, he said:
"Work! Do you really mean to say that you believe in a utilitarian
Heaven, where we are going to work with our hands? For my part--"
"I had reference to the penitentiary," said Geoffrey.
"Oh, yes, of course, the penitentiary. There are some wonderful men in
the penitentiary. You don't admit that, I suppose, with your
conventional ideas; but to me they are just as admirable as any other
great creative artist,--sculptor or financier. I see you don't quite get that.
You are hemmed in by conventional standards, and your possessions,
and all the things to which you attach such great importance."
"I don't attach so much importance that I steal them from other people,"
said Geoffrey.
"Philistine, Holland, philistine! Is not any one who has anything
stealing from some one or other? Of course. But I see you don't catch
the idea. Well, I dare say I would not either in your place--rather think I
would not. My sister is just the same way. Sweet girl, witty in her own
way, but philistine. She is so good as to be my companion, apparently
on equal terms, in many ways my superior, but it would be impossible
for me even to mention these ideas to her,--ideas which are of the
greatest interest to me."
"I wonder," said Geoffrey, "how much of all this rubbish you believe?"

McVay smiled with great sweetness. "I wonder myself, Holland. Still it
is undeniably amusing, and the main thing is that I enjoy life,--a hard
life too in many ways. Fate has dealt me some sad blows. Look at such
a coincidence as your turning up to-night, of all nights in the year."
"It was scarcely a coincidence. I came--"
"Oh, I know, I know. You came to see after your sister's things, but still,
if you look at it a little more carefully, you will see that it was a
coincidence that you should be by nature a man of prompt action. Nine
men out of ten in your place--still, I'm not depressed. You cannot say,
Holland, that I behave or talk like a man who has ten years of hard
labour before him, can you? I dare say you have never been thrown
with a person who showed less anxiety. Yet as a matter of fact, there is
something preying on my mind. Something entirely aside from
anything you could imagine."
"You don't tell me!" said Geoffrey, who did not know whether to be
most amused or infuriated by his companion's conversation.
"I am about to tell you," said McVay graciously, "I am very seriously
worried about my sister. In fact I don't see that there is any getting
away from it; you will have to let me go out for an hour or so and get
her."
"Let you do _what_?"
"Get my sister. She's living in a little hut in your woods, and I am
actually afraid she will be snowed up."
"It seems highly probable."
"Well, then, I must go and get her."
Geoffrey stared at him a moment, and then said: "You must be crazy."
"Maybe I am," answered McVay, as if the suggestion were not without
an