A CASE OF PROMOTION.

Lyttelton Times, Volume CXIV, Issue 13889, 25 October 1905, Page 10

A CASE OF PROMOTION.

i;v- ■. v . (By W. M. FERGUSON.) ' Hogan was Irish, ambitious, and a • "regenerate. The two adjectives qualified the noun. If ho had not been Irish i'and'ambitious, the many “facers” he 'bad received in his thirty-five years of •:]ife would long since have hammered the impregnable smile from his countenance. The two principal factors in Hogan’s life had both been women, and they, the greatest determining influences that ever mould a man’s charac- . ter —his mother and his sweetheart. Hogan’s mother had died when he was twelve years old. The clay of his char.acter had been soft then, and she, the 1 potter, had moulded it as a mother should; fashioned it by precept and example. Now it had hardened, and the chief attributes embodied in' it were Duty, Honour, Love and Charity. And the greatest of these was* Charity. Of oourse, Hogan once had a father. Somei times he regretted the necessity of such a factor in the scheme of generation. But what his father had lacked,_ his mother had over-balanced, and it is . always the mother that touches the rei sponsive chords in the heart of the child. . Hogan’s mother had left in his soul, as «. heritage, a strong vein of pure gold. His sweetheart had left a lode of pure iron. She had entered his life when he was twenty; she had departed it two . years later. She had found it happy, 'ambitious, commonplace; she left it unhappy, for the time being, unambitious, and decidedly unoommonplaoe. For Hogan suffered a moral relapse and took to drink : and the level of the sodden. She had jilted him for a man of better i rfemily, but personally of poorer moral etamina than Hogan) Hogan never «von knew the name of him who had supplanted him.- At any rate, Hogan’s , sweetheart passed out of his life twelve years ago, and he never heard whether •he had made a permanent wreck of her own fortunes as she had made a temporary on© of his.. And the bitterest part of all was that' he still loved her, and always- would. It was his nature. Hogan had been an unfortunate for two years when he suddenly braced up and started in to repair his fallen fortunes. It required all the grit' he possessed to successfully retrace his floundering footsteps; but he eventually succeeded. "His - mother’s heritage, the vein of pure gold, had been temporarily ■ smothered by the lode of iron. But the latter had melted in the fierce fight for i self-respect, while the gold had but , emerged refined. He was Irish, of humble birth. He had been an elcetri.ijal mechanic; now he determined upon the police force. By hard work he .passed his Civil Service examination and won his appointment as patrolman. T,’hon his education and grit came to the front, and in six years’ time he had .earned promotion to a plain clothes -- man, and now headed the eligible list. His fight for promotion had been against odds, internally .and externally, and his ■probation of hard luck was. not yet over. He was grimly battling against the prejudice of his precinct commander, Captain Schmidt of "the —— Precinct. His captain was German, he Irish, and the national antipathy started it. Perhaps the senior officer dinlly realised, in his heavy, methodical, Germanic way, that Hogan’s aggressive and intuitive blood might'some day-in .the near future, sup- , plant him behind the desk if it was not tempered ly an, authoritative douche. At all events, two less competent men ■had been promoted over Hogan’s head. ■Hogan’s smile had become a little more grim and his enei’gy a little more volatile- Then luck, for a fleeting second, had replaced her frown with a smile. He made an important capture which placed him head of the eligible list, despite the captain’s discreet, but nevertheless vigorous, disapproval. That had been five years ago, and his longedfor promotion seemed as elusive as the .Fountain of Eternal' Youth. , No doubt, if the- Commissioner of Police had known of Hogan’s ability and clean record, he would have cast an approving eye his way. But the old Police Commissioner was a now man who was more fitted as an after-dinner speaker than filling the executive chair at Mulberry Street. He was an honourable, easy-going gentleman, who swallowed his captains’ reports without the usual digestive grain of salt. If he had known of Hogan’s past life,’ his two years’ descent to the level of the - sodden, with its fcetid atmosphere of moral and phy- ■ sical degeneracy; if ho had-known of his superhuman fight for self-respect and moral cleanliness, his eyes would have been sympathetic as well as favourable. For, like all families,.there was a skeleton in the old. Police Commissioner’s closet.

His eldest son was a black sheep with an- utter aversion to the whitewash brush. The boy had always been wild, and, after several shady transactions m money matters, he had left his father’s roof to make a'new’record. He had married a girl of lower social standing than himself, but of respectable parents. Then he had got in with a fast crowd, and the big city swallowed him. It was twelve years since the Police'Commissioner had seen his son, but his love for. him still ate like a canker at his heart. His hair turned grey, then white in the twelve years, but the hoy’s image ever confronted him- He waited patiently year by year for the return of the prodigal. Ho made no effort to find him. He trusted blindly to the hoy’s inherent manhood.- He hoped he had worked safely out of his past mistakes, righted himself in his own and his fellow man’s esteem. Then when he had won recognition from the world he would return to him, and his past would be laughed over and his present achievements praised, And he would be the one, the,rightful one, to cheer his and the mother’s declining years. The mother had ever striven to be a buffer between the son and retribution in the family circle, and who was eating her heart out because the world would not admit of such services. Yes, the prodigal would return, weighed in the balance of human achievement and fonnd.no longer wanting. And so the old Police Commissioner dreamed. It was on a misty evening -in late September when Captain Schmidt, of the Precinct, lined up the night patrol in front of the desk for the usual instructions and orders. Among the blUeooats was one, John Hogan, plain clothes maa, who for the past week had been on poolroom detail in the Tenderloin. Among the various orders the captain read the following notice from headquarters:— piAfANTED—Charles (alias "Sport”) FairIY i child, gambler, bookmaker and forger. Age, thirty-two years. Height, five feet ten inches. • Weight, one hundred and fifty pounds. Hsir, sandy, thin. Face, long, oval, clean-shaven, sometimes small Yan Fyke beard. Complexion, clear. Birthmark, three -moles fryynod like a triangle on right cheek. Known to be married and to have one child. Formerly resided in West Thirty-first Street. Wanted for passing forged cheque on the National Bank of this city. When last seen had on & light grey suit, tan shoes, etc., etc.

“ Keep your eyes open for him, men,” concluded Captain Schmidt. “The Commissioner has determined to roundup all the crooks and forgers, and his orders are strict. It might just hapthat he would return to his old haunts for some time. More likely he was in Baltimore or Chicago by now. A month passed, and the forger was still “ wanted,” by headquarters. Every time John-Hogan had gone out on his detail he kept freshly dusted in his mental Soguos’ Gallery the picture of “Sport” Fairchild. He had come to know the characteristics of that face by heart. His soul was concentrated upon it, his ambition. Once let him make this capture and his promotion : would be won. Captain Schmidt could no longer withhold his recommendation. But, though Hogan narrowly scanned each face he passed in the street, the face that meant his promotion never i met his eyes. I ■^' wo ™ ont bs, three months slipped away ._ Then one evening, as Hogan was standing on Fifth Averme, his attention : .was attracted to the opposite corner. I Batrolman Mullanoy, of his precinct, *

had a small boy by the hand. - The boy was about four years old, and dressed in a short reefer jacket and leather, leg-<rin"-s. Hogan crossed idly over. ” ‘“Lost?” he asked indifferently. “Shore,” said Mullaney, a perplexed look wrinkling his Milesian countenance. “ Been lost for four hours, I o-ucss. Faix, the bye don’t know his own name at all, nor where he lives. Oi’ll have to be afther talcin’ him to th station house.” • . , , Hogan had a way with children. “Let me try,” he said, and lifted the little chap in his strong arms. The violet glare from a neighbouring arc light struck full upon th© child’s frightened eves. Large, grey eyes they were, and as they met Hogan’s a vague memory thrilled through the latter. But it was "not the eyes that had sent the blood pounding in the plain clothes man’s breast. It was the sight of three moles formed like a triangle upon the child’s right cheek. Hogan’s voice was steady and soothing. “ And where were you going when you got lost?” he asked. “ To—to see favver,” said the boy, Struggling to keep back the tears. “ And don’t you live with your father?” pursued Hogan gently. The child shook his head. “I live wiv—wiv muvver. Favver’s been away—a long way.” ‘ “ Oh,” said Hogan. “ And so your father has iust come back, eh?” The boy nodded slowly. “ Well, why didn’t he come home to see mother and his little boy? AH fathers do that the first thing, you know,” suggested the plain clotlies man.

The child eyed him in grave surprise. “ Oh, but you know, favver—favver can’t.” “ Better let me take him to th’ house. Ye’re wastin’ time quizzing th’ lad,” interrupted Mullaney. . But Hogan impatiently shook his head. “ And why can’t father come to see mother and his little boy?” he asked gently. “ Muvver says there is a lot of bad men who want—want to hurt favver.” “Oh,” considered Hogan. “ And so you were on your way to tell your father to come homo? That the bad men had gone away? Is that it, eh?” The child nodded. “Favver was going to take us away, away.” Hogan turned to Mullaney. ‘ 1 guess I know who this kid belongs to. I’ll see him home-,” and taking the boy in his arms, he started toward Sixth Avenue. “ Have you ever been to your father’s house before?” he asked, while on his way. “Yes,” said the boy. “Once muvver says favver’s been home for four, five, days. You’re not a bad man?” he finished'suddenly, looking trustfully into Hogan’s ©yes and tightening his ho’d. A queer thril' of self-contempt shot into the plain clothes man’s heart. For six years' now ho had been a stranger to that feeling. It was dirty work he was engaged in—but duty and ambition stifled his conscience. “No, I’m not a bad man,” he answered hurriedly- “ And what does your-father’s house look like?” The hoy considered. “ It’s awful big and—and dark and I have to go up an awful lot of stall's.” “Flat house,” mused Hogan. “And I suppose you have lots of fun looking out of the windows at the cars? You know, the cars that run past on a high bridge,” and ho pointed to tho elevated overhead. The boy said “ Y'es,” with his head. “I’ll risk it as a fiat house on Sixth Avenue,!’,said Hogan to himself. “But where Ply*. He arid hie little charge had reached the glare of the avenue. Hogan considered, scratching his chin. How could he find the ■ elusive flat house? “Don’t you know where your own home is? Your mother’s?” he. asked presently. “N—no. It’s that way. A long way,” and the child pointed up the avenue. “And can’t you remember where your father lives? Try,” persuaded Hogan. The boy shook his head, finger m mouth. “Then how did you find your way to your father’s house the last time you'visited him? And how did you get home again?” grimly persisted the plain clothes man. “I'went wiv muvver. Muvver came wiv me to-day hut when we got off tho big car I—l got losted,” and tile tears would not bo denied. “He can’t have wandered far. The father must be in this precinct,” mused Hogan, his pulse quickening. He had set the child on the sidewalk, but now ho stooped and lifted him again in his arms. Once more those grey eyes stirred a vague memory in hie heart. “Now tell me child,” he said impressively. “ How did you know whenever you were near your father’s house? Wasn’t there anything you used .to like to watch, like the cars that went by the window? Tho cars on the high bridge?” The boy suddenly clapped his hands. “Oh, you jneau a car? A—a big, a great big house on wheels all golded, and favver would get a funny fat man wiv funny red hair to give me pies •” But Hogan, recognition pulsing in his eyes, started up the avenue. “ ‘ Dan’s Pantry ’ on Thirty-seventh Street, by all that’s holy.” “Are wo. going to—to favyer’s?” asked the boy happily, laying his drowsy head upon tlie broad shoulder of th© detective.

“Yes,” said Hogan. But his eyes would not meet the trusting grey ones so near his own. On the way up- to Thirty-seventh Street Hogan’s big heart was raked by many feelings. For the first time since joining tjxe force he despised his calling—and yet ho was about to earn the much-coveted step in promotion. The boy, whose golden head-was so near his own, had touched a chord in his nature that had not actively vibrated for many years. It brought to his mind his mother’s face and her heritage of duty, honour, love and charity. But he was only doing his duty. Yes, his duty, not his ambition. He crushed down the momentary spasm of weakness, of self-contempt. The boy was very tired and happy when they reached Thirty-seventh Street, and after a brief period of indecision he finally located “ favver’s house.” Hogan, a grim smile on his lips, pushed open the hall door and ascended the narrow, meanly-carpeted stairs. At the boy’s instructions he mounted three flights, then knocked at “favver’s” door. There was silence, then footsteps sounded and the door was opened half an inch. “Favver!” called the boy. The next moment he was in the arms of a fairhaired man with a Van Dyke beard and brown eyes. He had a birthmark upon Ids right cheek—three moles formed like a triangle. “ Tire kid was lost, so I brought him home.” said Hogan, entering the small room and shutting the door behind him. The man slowly seated the hoy in the chair, then faced the detective, a halfsmothered suspicion- in his eyes. “ I cannot thank you enough,” he began impetuously. “ His mother and I h/ive been distracted. Hie mother i? out looking-—-” _ He bit off the sentenoe, suspicion rife in his eyes. How did you know w|iere the. boy lived? he finished slowly. “ Oh, favver, he’s such a good man,” exclaimed the hoy, looking at Hogan with drowsy, friendly eyes. Hogan looked at the floor, finally at the pale-faced man. “ Charles Fairchild, you’re my prisoner. Captain Schmidt would, like to see you at the station house. You’re wanted on that forgery charge,” he blurted out harshly. The man looked at him with w-moo-

ing eyes, the blood slowly ebbing from his cheek. He fiercely gripped at the table he had been leaning against, then dropped into a chair and buried his face in his hands The boy, the sleep frightened from him, gazed at Hogan with wide, reproachful eyes, scrambled from tho chair, and . running over to his father, flung his arms about his neck. Hogan turned and glowered at the opposite wall. Finally the man raised his head. He had aged ten years in that one minute.

“Let me go!” he demanded hoarsely, inarticulately. “ Lot me go, I tell you I You don’t know what it means to me—to the wife—to the boy. I’ll pay you—l’ll—There, let me go,” his voice was pleading, imperative. “No one will ever know. God, you don’t know how I’ve worked l to turn over a now loaf! Give me a chancel” He clenched his hands in an agony of supplication, passion. “I starved, I sweated to—to scrape a home together! To —to be an honest man. I’ve got a small one out in Chicago. My record was against me hove. I catme on to bring back the wife and—and boy. I’vo got a good position. I’m in a fair way of leaving an honest name for the boy. Don’t, for God’s sake, don’t drag me back to hell! Give me a chance, man to man ! Only one little chance!” “ It’s not my orders, it’s headquarters,” said Hogan gruffly. “Go on, give me a chance!” reiterated tho man frenziedly. “It’s nothing to you—everything to me. I’ve hoarded every honest penny; my wife has slaved, starved, to pay off that forgery. I’ll pay the bank every penny if you only give me a little time. Upon my honour as a ” He choked on the word “gentleman.” “Just one chance,” he cried hoarsely. “For—for—the hoy’s sake. I’m not a felon. I went wrong. I’m of good family. Fairchild isn’t my name. I disgraced my 'right one, but I’m living honourably under it in Chicago, whore they don’t know my record. Don’t brand me a criminal! For God’s sake, don’t! It will kill my father—mother—wifeall, all.” Ho sprang to his feet, his chest heaving, his hands working. The boy had huddled in the chair, staring at Hogan with wide, wounded eyes. “ I’m sorry,” said the detective doggedly, “ but it’s my duty.” But even as he said it he knew that it was his ambition. Then footsteps sounded in the corridor, tho hall door was flung open, and a woman entered. As her eyes mot those of the boy she gave a strangled cry, and, flying across the room, she clutched him fiercely to" her breast. She sobbed and laughed over him, utterly oblivious to tho dramatic tableau at her back. The man was looking at her, love in his eyes, a weary smile upon his white lips. Hogan’s eyes, likewise, were riveted upon tho slim, graceful figure. Then the woman, laughing and gurgling and pushing the red gold hair away from her forehead, struggled to her feet, the boy in her arms. “ How did you find him, Charley—” For the first time, apparently, she noticed tho big figure of the plain clothes man standing silently by the door. “ O-o-h, this gentleman found— ; —” She faltered, and her voice trailed away as her eyes met those of Hogan. The old rose in hor soft cheek died quickly. _ ) Hogan’s gaze never flinched. He knew now why tho boy’s eyes had drawn his soul. He was looking into a pair of grey ..eyes he had not seen for twelve long years. Tho eyes of the woman ho loved. And by every law of God and man tho boy he had held in his arms should have been his. There was intense stillness in the shabby little room. The man’s eyes were travelling from Hogan to his wife and hack again. He was too stunned by the sudden wreck of his life to understand. Then Hogan turned slowly to tho door. “I—l am very glad that it was my luck to find the little chap. Better keep an eye on him in the future,” he said heavily. He looked straight at the man. “Chicago, I believe,.is a pretty safe city for children. , Goodnight,” and opening the door, he passed quietly but. Honour and ambition were defeated; love, charity triumphant. In the course of another two years, the old Police Commissioner’s faith in his wayward son was vindicated. The prodigal returned, weighed in the balance of human achievement and,found not wanting. He. came on a flying visit from Chicago, where he held a responsible position with a prominent bank. He brought with him his wife and son. Of that reconciliation little need be recorded. There wore many tears and many smiles. Suffice, that shortly afterwards one John Hogan, plain clothes man of the Precinct, took an unprecedented leap up the ladder of fortune. He did not receive his long coveted step in promotion. He skipped it. He was officially created a captain with a strong recommendation for an inspectorship. And lie wonders why the old Commissioner happened to select him for the honour.