"Of course. I knew I'd seen you play that sort of part some time.
You came on during the dark scene and--"
"--switched on the lights and--"
"--covered the bunch with your gun while they were still
blinking! You were great in that part, dad."
"It was a good part," said Mr. Crocker modestly. "It had fat. I'd
like to have a chance to play a kidnapper again. There's a lot of
pep to kidnappers."
"You _shall_ play one again," said Jimmy. "I am putting on a little
sketch with a kidnapper as the star part."
"Eh? A sketch? You, Jim? Where?"
"Here. In this house. It is entitled 'Kidnapping Ogden' and opens
to-night."
Mr. Crocker looked at his only son in concern. Jimmy appeared to
him to be rambling.
"Amateur theatricals?" he hazarded.
"In the sense that there is no pay for performing, yes. Dad, you
know that kid Ogden upstairs? Well, it's quite simple. I want you
to kidnap him for me."
Mr. Crocker sat down heavily. He shook his head.
"I don't follow all this."
"Of course not. I haven't begun to explain. Dad, in your rambles
through this joint you've noticed a girl with glorious red-gold
hair, I imagine?"
"Ann Chester?"
"Ann Chester. I'm going to marry her."
"Jimmy!"
"But she doesn't know it yet. Now, follow me carefully, dad. Five
years ago Ann Chester wrote a book of poems. It's on that desk
there. You were using it a moment back as second-base or
something.
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