For one who had only just developed a tolerably thriving mustache, Christy was a prudent and methodical young gentleman.
As a part of his method, he had a great many small drawers in his rooms, and a dozen or more keys; but he had never lost them, for the reason that he carried them chained to his nether garment.

But he had two sets of keys, one for the house, and one for the ship.

He had taken the night-key from the former, and put it in his vest pocket; and when he reached the front door of the mansion, the key he wanted was in his chamber, and he had been careful to shut the door when he left the house.
He could not get in, and he walked around the building to find a window which had not been closed.

His mother had a reasonable dread of robbers, and she always looked out for the windows before she retired.

He did not wish to arouse the family by ringing the great gong bell, but it was too cold to spend the rest of the night out-doors in his half-clothed condition, for he was as liable to take a severe cold as any less brilliant individual, and he might have to spend a month in his chamber, instead of reporting to the flag-officer of the Eastern Gulf squadron, in command of the Bronx.
He rang the bell, and the sound from it reverberated through the entire mansion.