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HARD-LUCK STORY

MUSICIAN AND A “ CAREER " There is one. thing more amazing than the stories that tho confidence trickster tells—and that is that there always seem to be people ready to believe them (says a London writer). What would you do, for instance, if a fellow came up to you at Victoria station and told you a hard-luck story? Well, you might reasonably draw on your charity to give him a meal. You might even give him half a crown that, he said, he needed to pay his fare to a place where there was a job waiting for him', although that particular tale is so old that the worthy Joe' Miller might well have given it a place in his jest book. So much a charitable man might do, without investigation, and' without reproaching himself for being a silly dupe. Now listen to what Frank did.

' A young Irishman called John came up to Frank at Victoria station and told him the , conventional hard luck story, introducing himself as Mr Le Vaughan—not, of course, his real name. ' Frank stood John a meal and gave, him half a crown. John’s interest quickened, for here was just the sort of benefactor he had been looking for. John sighed pathetically and remarked that if only he knew where to get enough money to hire a dress suit he could get a good ‘ job in a dance band. He knew a Mr Learmonty, at an address in Victoria, who was conductor of a dance band, and this kind Mr Learmonty had promised to give him a job if only he could get some dress clothes. Frank, all sympathy, lent John 10s. True, there really was a Mr Learmonty living at that' address in Victoria. 1 That was where John lived, and Learmonty was just another of his aliases. It was really little wonder that Mr Learmonty was so keenly interested in the welfare of Mr Le Vaughan. John kept in close touch with the little gold mine he had discovered at Victoria station. He kept on telephoning him to say that he was getting on so well in his new job. It looked like being a permanency, this job at a certain dance hall (a nonexistent place of entertainment, the police found out), but he simply had to have a violin, and a room where he would be on the telephone. Frank parted with £5. “FAINTED IN THE ROAD.”

The next day John telephone# to gay that he had fainted in the Edgware road, and the £3 had been stolen from his pocket. Frank sent him - another £4. That rattled it. If Frank would swallow. a story like that he would swallow anything. John told Frank that he would not get his salary until . the end of the month, when, of course, he would refund all his kind loans. Meanwhile his career was developing splendidly, and Mr Learmonty was ever so pleased with him (as, indeed, he must have been). Mr Learmonty, said John, had even used his influence to get him an audition at the 8.8. C. Was it not splendid? Splendid, agreed Frank. The only difficulty, continued John, was that he simply must have some hew clothes and a saxophone (a versatile musician, was John). Of course, he could not trespass on the generosity of his kind benefactor again, but it seemed such a pity that a chance like that—

Frank paid up again, and also lent him a suitcase and three suits of clothes. , Then John decided that the •game was getting a bit risky. After all, ho had done rather well out of it. His total winnings w r ere just £4O. So John threw up his musical career, apparently without a qualm, and left rather hurriedly for Ireland.

However, John came back from Ireland, under escort, and found himself in the Westminster Police Court dock, listening to the tale of his previous delinquencies and convictions. “ I have known him since he first came over from Ireland,” reported the court missionary. “ 1 have watched him going slowly downhill, and unfortunately I could do nothing to stop him. If he had only gone back to Ireland when wo advised him to Unfortunately, I have never known him do an honest day’s work since I first met him.” “ My opinion of you,” Mr Powell, the magistrate, to John, *' is that you are a young rogue. You have taken £lO from this man simply by lying and cheating. You will go to prison for nine months.’'

Permanent link to this item

https://paperspast.natlib.govt.nz/newspapers/ESD19340829.2.139

Bibliographic details

Evening Star, Issue 21811, 29 August 1934, Page 14

Word Count
754

HARD-LUCK STORY Evening Star, Issue 21811, 29 August 1934, Page 14

HARD-LUCK STORY Evening Star, Issue 21811, 29 August 1934, Page 14

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