Chapter 2: Get Out！

That afternoon, no one planned to leave Martha alone at home. But coincidentally, for various reasons, everyone was called away. Mrs. McFarlane was attending a meeting organized by the Women's Anti-Gambling League; Nell's boyfriend suddenly decided to take her on a drive; Father was, as usual, at his office; and Mary Ann had a day out. As for Emmeline, she should have stayed home to look after the little girl, but Emmeline had an active nature.

"Miss, if you don't mind, I'd like to go down the street to talk to Mrs. Carlton's little girl," she said to Martha.

"Of course. You'd better lock the back door and take the key, because I'm going upstairs," Martha replied.

"Alright, Miss, I'll do as you say," Emmeline said happily as she ran off. She spent the afternoon with her friend, leaving Martha alone in the big house, locked inside.

The little girl read a few pages of a book, did some stitches on her embroidery, and then started "visiting" her four favorite dolls. Then she remembered there was a "dollhouse" in the attic that hadn't been used for months. She decided to clean it up and organize it.

With this in mind, the little girl climbed the spiral staircase to the large room under the roof.

Three large windows made the room bright and warm, creating a pleasant atmosphere. Around the walls were many wooden boxes and trunks; old carpets, some old furniture, bundles of worn-out clothes, and other somewhat valuable junk.

At that time, every respectable house had such an attic, so there's no need to describe it in detail.

The "dollhouse" had been moved. Martha looked for a while and found it in a corner near the big chimney.

She pulled the "dollhouse" out and discovered a large black wooden box behind it.

This was sent back from Italy many years ago by Uncle Walter. Martha wasn't born then.

One day, her mother told her about it. She said no key could open the box because Uncle Walter wanted to open it himself when he returned home. Walter loved to travel and was an excellent hunter. He later went to Africa to capture elephants and was never heard from again.

The little girl examined the box closely, clearly intrigued.

The box was very large—larger than her mother's biggest trunk. It was covered in tarnished brass studs and very heavy. When Martha tried to lift one end, it didn't budge. There was a keyhole in the lid. She bent down to inspect the lock, thinking it would take a large key to open it.

Naturally, like you might guess, the little girl was eager to open Uncle Walter's big box.

She just wanted to see what was inside. In fact, we share the same curiosity.

She thought, "Uncle Walter might never come back. Dad once said he was probably killed by an elephant. If only I had a key..." She didn't finish the thought, clapping her little hands excitedly. She remembered a basket of keys on a shelf in the closet. There were all kinds of keys, big and small, maybe one could open this mysterious box.

She ran downstairs, found the basket, and returned to the attic. Sitting in front of the brass-studded box, she tried each key in the strange lock. Some keys were too big, most were too small. Some fit but wouldn't turn; one key got stuck and wouldn't come out. For a while, she worried she couldn't remove it. Finally, when the basket was almost empty, she found an old, oddly shaped brass key that slid easily into the lock. Martha was thrilled. She turned the key with both hands. She heard a sharp "click," and the heavy lid sprang open.

The little girl leaned over the edge, but what she saw inside made her recoil in shock.

A man slowly, shakily climbed out of the box and quickly jumped to the floor.

He stretched his arms and legs, then politely took off his hat and bowed to the startled Martha.

He was tall and thin, with a face that looked sunburned and weather-beaten.

Then another man emerged from the box. He yawned, rubbed his eyes, looking like a sleepy schoolboy. He was of medium height, with similarly sunburned skin.

As Martha stood there with her mouth open, staring at the strange scene, a third man crawled out of the box: short and fat, with the same weather-beaten skin.

These three men wore strange clothes. They had red velvet jackets with gold trim, blue knee-length shorts with silver patches, and colorful ribbons on their long stockings. Their hats had wide brims with tall flowers and colorful ribbons.

They wore gold earrings and had belts filled with knives and guns. Their eyes were dark and bright. They had big beards, the ends curled like pig tails.

"My God! You're heavy," said the fat man as he took off his velvet jacket and dusted off his blue shorts. "You almost flattened me."

"Can't be helped, Lugi," the tall one said softly. "The lid pressed on me, and I was on top of you. I apologize."

"As for me," said the medium-sized man, rolling a cigarette absentmindedly and lighting it, "you have to admit, I've been your closest friend for years, so don't mind it."

The smell of smoke brought Martha back to her senses. "You can't smoke in the attic! You'll set the house on fire!"

Until then, the medium-sized man hadn't noticed her. When he heard her speak, he turned and bowed.

"Since the young lady asks, I'll stop smoking." He threw the cigarette on the floor and stomped it out.

"Who are you?" Martha asked, too astonished to be afraid.

"Allow us to introduce ourselves," said the tall man, tipping his hat elegantly. "He is Lugi," the fat man nodded, "he is Benny," the medium-sized man bowed, "and I am Victor. We are robbers—Italian robbers."

"Robbers!" Martha cried in fear.

"Yes, perhaps the most ruthless robbers in the world," Victor said proudly.

"Indeed," the fat man solemnly agreed.

"This is wicked!" Martha exclaimed.

"Yes, it is," Victor replied. "We are very wicked. You probably won't find anyone more wicked than the three of us in front of you."

"Exactly," the fat man concurred.

"But you shouldn't be so wicked. It's—it's nonsense," the little girl said.

Victor lowered his eyes in shame.

"Nonsense!" Benny echoed in shock, gasping.

"The word is too harsh," Lugi said sadly, covering his face with his hands.

"It is an idea," Victor whispered sorrowfully. "To be insulted like this—and from a little girl! But perhaps you spoke too hastily.

Consider, Miss, our wickedness is justified. Let me ask you: if we weren't wicked, how could we be robbers?"