In The Bishop's Carriage [22]
is Obermuller, Standard Theater. I want an officer to take charge of a thief I've caught in my apartments here at the Bronsonia. Yes, right on the corner. Hold him till you come? Well--rather!"
He put down the 'phone. I pulled the pearl studs out of my pocket.
"You might as well take these, too," I said.
"So thoughtful of you, seeing that you'd be searched! But I'll take 'em, anyway. You intended them for--Him? You didn't get anything else?"
I shook my head as I lay there.
"Hum!" It was half a laugh, and half a sneer. I hated him for it, as he sat leaning back on the back legs of his chair, his thumbs in his arm-holes. I felt his eyes--those smart, keen eyes, burning into my miserable head. I thought of the lawyer and the deal he'd give poor Tom, and all at once--
You'd have sniffled yourself, Mag Monahan. There I was--caught. The cop'd be after me in five minutes. With Tom jugged, and me in stripes--it wasn't very jolly, and I lost my nerve.
"Ashamed--huh?" he said lightly.
I nodded. I was ashamed.
"Pity you didn't get ashamed before you broke in here."
"What the devil was there to be ashamed of?"
The sting in his voice had cured me. I never was a weeper. I sat up, my face blazing, and stared at him. He'd got me to hand over to the cop, but he hadn't got me to sneer at.
I saw by the look he gave me, that he hadn't really seen me till then.
"Well," he answered, "what the devil is there to be ashamed of now?"
"Of being caught--that's what."
"Oh!"
He tilted back again on his chair and laughed softly.
"Then you're not ashamed of your profession?"
"Are you of yours?"
"Well--there's a slight difference."
"Not much, whatever it may be. It's your graft--it's everybody's--to take all he can get, and keep out of jail. That's mine, too."
"But you see I keep out of jail."
"I see you're not there--yet."
"Oh, I think you needn't worry about that. I'll keep out, thank you; imprisonment for debt don't go nowadays."
"Debt?"
"I'm a theatrical manager, my girl, and I'm not on the inside: which is another way of saying that a man who can't swim has fallen overboard."
"And when you do go down--"
"A little less exultation, my dear, or I might suppose you'd be glad when I do."
"Well, when you know yourself going down for the last time, do you mean to tell me you won't grasp at a straw like--like this?" I nodded toward the open window, and the desk with all its papers tumbling out.
"Not much." He shook his head, and bit the end of a cigar with sharp, white teeth. "It's a fool graft. I'm self-respecting. And I don't admire fools." He lit his cigar and puffed a minute, taking out his watch to look at it, as cold-bloodedly as though we were waiting, he and I, to go to supper together. Oh, how I hated him!
"Honesty isn't the best policy," he went on; "it's the only one. The vain fool that gets it into his head--or shall I say her head? No? Well, no offense, I assure you--his head then, that he's smarter than a world full of experience, ought to be put in jail--for his own protection; he's too big a jay to be left out of doors. For five thousand years, more or less, the world has been putting people like him behind bars, where they can't make asses of themselves. Yet each year, and every day and every hour, a new ninny is born who fancies he's cleverer than all his predecessors put together. Talk about suckers! Why, they're giants of intellect compared to the mentally lop-sided that five thousand years of experience can't teach. When the criminal-clown's turn comes, he hops, skips and jumps into the ring with the old, old gag. He thinks it's new, because he himself is so fresh and green. `Here I am again,' he yells, `the fellow that'll do you up. Others have tried it. They're dead in jail or under jail-yards. But me--just watch me!' We do, and after a little we put him with his mates and a keeper in a barred kindergarten where fools that can't learn, little moral cripples of both sexes, my dear, belong. Bah!" He puffed
He put down the 'phone. I pulled the pearl studs out of my pocket.
"You might as well take these, too," I said.
"So thoughtful of you, seeing that you'd be searched! But I'll take 'em, anyway. You intended them for--Him? You didn't get anything else?"
I shook my head as I lay there.
"Hum!" It was half a laugh, and half a sneer. I hated him for it, as he sat leaning back on the back legs of his chair, his thumbs in his arm-holes. I felt his eyes--those smart, keen eyes, burning into my miserable head. I thought of the lawyer and the deal he'd give poor Tom, and all at once--
You'd have sniffled yourself, Mag Monahan. There I was--caught. The cop'd be after me in five minutes. With Tom jugged, and me in stripes--it wasn't very jolly, and I lost my nerve.
"Ashamed--huh?" he said lightly.
I nodded. I was ashamed.
"Pity you didn't get ashamed before you broke in here."
"What the devil was there to be ashamed of?"
The sting in his voice had cured me. I never was a weeper. I sat up, my face blazing, and stared at him. He'd got me to hand over to the cop, but he hadn't got me to sneer at.
I saw by the look he gave me, that he hadn't really seen me till then.
"Well," he answered, "what the devil is there to be ashamed of now?"
"Of being caught--that's what."
"Oh!"
He tilted back again on his chair and laughed softly.
"Then you're not ashamed of your profession?"
"Are you of yours?"
"Well--there's a slight difference."
"Not much, whatever it may be. It's your graft--it's everybody's--to take all he can get, and keep out of jail. That's mine, too."
"But you see I keep out of jail."
"I see you're not there--yet."
"Oh, I think you needn't worry about that. I'll keep out, thank you; imprisonment for debt don't go nowadays."
"Debt?"
"I'm a theatrical manager, my girl, and I'm not on the inside: which is another way of saying that a man who can't swim has fallen overboard."
"And when you do go down--"
"A little less exultation, my dear, or I might suppose you'd be glad when I do."
"Well, when you know yourself going down for the last time, do you mean to tell me you won't grasp at a straw like--like this?" I nodded toward the open window, and the desk with all its papers tumbling out.
"Not much." He shook his head, and bit the end of a cigar with sharp, white teeth. "It's a fool graft. I'm self-respecting. And I don't admire fools." He lit his cigar and puffed a minute, taking out his watch to look at it, as cold-bloodedly as though we were waiting, he and I, to go to supper together. Oh, how I hated him!
"Honesty isn't the best policy," he went on; "it's the only one. The vain fool that gets it into his head--or shall I say her head? No? Well, no offense, I assure you--his head then, that he's smarter than a world full of experience, ought to be put in jail--for his own protection; he's too big a jay to be left out of doors. For five thousand years, more or less, the world has been putting people like him behind bars, where they can't make asses of themselves. Yet each year, and every day and every hour, a new ninny is born who fancies he's cleverer than all his predecessors put together. Talk about suckers! Why, they're giants of intellect compared to the mentally lop-sided that five thousand years of experience can't teach. When the criminal-clown's turn comes, he hops, skips and jumps into the ring with the old, old gag. He thinks it's new, because he himself is so fresh and green. `Here I am again,' he yells, `the fellow that'll do you up. Others have tried it. They're dead in jail or under jail-yards. But me--just watch me!' We do, and after a little we put him with his mates and a keeper in a barred kindergarten where fools that can't learn, little moral cripples of both sexes, my dear, belong. Bah!" He puffed