SHORT STORIES.

Otago Witness, Issue 2664, 5 April 1905, Page 82

SHORT STORIES.

HONESIY IS THE BEST POLICY.

A TRUE STORY.

Bt Hoei Poexe.

(For the Witness.) The three brothers — Frank, William, and Thomas — were as bad as they make them ; the- two sisters' were ladies — perfect ladies. I didn't know much about Frank and Will, but from boyhood's days I had met Tom. He had grown into a tug, burly fellow, always point de vie as regarded diress, and always a dashing, devil-may-care style about him thaf, in spite of all the tales that were told in - our "north country^' of Melbourne about Ms- peculiar ideas as to the laws governing meum and tuum, made him somewhat' fascinating. Of a leonine nature, Ihe made no secret of the fact that he was a very far remove from whdt he ought to have been ; • and he had at least two redeeming traits in his character — love for his sisters and gratitude for any kindness shown- t-6 him. At the time my story opens he had passed! his fortieth year, and it was 4ust after a return from one of my visits to Perth, Western Australia, that I learned he was out on bail, being committed for trial on a serious charge. It appears that Frank and William had gone over to Western Australia likewise, and one Christmastide, after doing fairly well on the fields, had come back on a trip to Melbourne. Just before Christmas Piank had been taking more wine than was good for him, and was knocking about in a northern suburb of Melbourne, when Tom and Will sighted him. They tried to get him home, point-, ing out how grievedi the, sisters — "with* ■whom, the three of th^Twere staying — would be to see him the worse for liquor ; but he proved to be very cantankerous, and, one^ word bringing on another, an "unfortunate blow. was struck, and Frank /fell prone. "Let him lie there for a little time, it will sober him up," remarked Tom, r and the brothers left him. iFive minutes afterwards a policeman and a "civilian came along j and on attempting to put him, on- his legs, found they were liuudiing a dead^nan. Tile civilian" knew who hfe was right enough, and on making inqiiiries, and finding that the two brothers had been seen in his company a short time before, and that, Tom had fceen r speaking rather roundly to Mm, the civilian — who was not on the best of terms with Tom— canie to the conclusion that -he had administered the blow which had apparently proved fatal. Acting on his information, Tom was arrested, and, as I said before, was out on bail when I T>ecame^ seized of the facts of the case. However, when he came before a jury, the medical evidence evidently didn't justify the twelve good men and true in bringing in^a verdict of guilty against -Tom, in the face of the fact that no one had witnessed the blow being struck. It" was some time after the occurrence that I happened to meet him at a cricket match, and in the course of conversation TFith him I remarked : "Tom, old fellow, don"t you think that it's about time you gave up your peculiar line of life? Surely, you must have realised that, even as a matter of business, honesty is the best policy after all?" "You are .quite right,*' was his rejoinder; "you are quite right. Why, even at my own game I have proved those trordfe to be true." "What do you mean?" I queried. "Do you mind listening to a queer tale in that connection," he asked — "and a tal? as true as gospel?" "No, I have no objection," was my answer. . "Well, then, let us take a stroll through the r ,park," he continued ; "for it will take sonic little time to tell, and this place is a bit too open, to suit me." So we strolled quietly through the adjoining park", and thus he told his story : "You have known me- from a boy," he commenced, "and you know perfectly well that there never was the slightest necessity for me to take up the line of life I liave followed for all these years. But there — I must have been always bad — intrinsically bad. Bad as I was, though, 1 don't think I would ever have been quite bo bad were it not for the craze I had from.' a boy for indulging in pernicious literature ; you know, 'The Boy Brigand,' 'Deadwood Dick,' and all that sort of stuff. However, to go on with my yarn, you also know that from a boy I was always pretty natty in my get-up — not exactly a -fop, but somewhat fastidious 'about my appearance. Well, one day, when I was only a youth, there was som- sport or other in Survey Paddock, and out I started to join in it. I was strolling down Bridge road, Richmond, and iust as I got near the river the buttonhole of my collar gave way, and ther.e- was no means of fixing it up. As luck would have it — for there were no drapers' shops down that quarter in those days — I spotted r little huckster's shop with three or four paper collars in the window, and, thinking they were about my size, I walked in. {There was nobody behind the counter, but en knocking thereon an old lady, who had evidently been at the wash-tvb — as her sleeves were rolled up and her arms and bands covered with soapsuds — came in Irom the back, and on inquiry I found ihe collars were just my size — 15£ inches. '" Can you change me half a sovereign, Jnother?" I inquired ; to which she replied : 'Oh, yes ; I can do that for you,' straightway she opens a wooden grawer, and: brings out one of the oldJashioned japanned casliboxes, with three flrawers. And what a sight met my jjyes! One compartment was full of sil-

ver. another of gold, and the- third contained! a compact roll of notes. Th.3 sight of them was quite enough for me ; so after I had made my purchase, fitted one of the collars on, and had gone outside until the old lady was back at her washtub, I stole in quietly, and the cashbox and contents were mine. I didn't continue my journey to the Survey Paddock, but when back to Yarra Park, near the Friendly Societies' Gardens, tilted the contents oi j the cashbox into a big handkerchief I had, and slung the cashbox into the river. J Then I went home, put the stuff — which amounted to over £90 — into a plant I had in my room, and journeyed down town with the money I originally had in my pocket. By this time I began to feel a bit peckish, and) as the afternoon was wearing on, I walked into the old Spanish Kestaurant to order the best that Arenas and Parer provided. Before I had time to be served the boy came in with the evening paper, and on purchasing a copy I found an account of the robbery in it. It appeared that the old lady's husband had had his life insured for £100, and as he had died 1 just before, and she didn't believe in banks, ! she had kept the main bulk of it ! in the shop, with the result I have I narrated. I can assure you, old boy, that although I was pretty hungry when I -went ,, t into the Spanish, I didn't eat very much after reading that. When I went outside, I said to myself, ' What ! You must be getting gallid, Tom ; go ana have a stiff. nip of brandy to steady your nerves up.' I Hid have a nip, and another nip, but it was of no use. At last I went back home, put on an old pair of trousers and a Garibaldi shirt, stuck the handkerchief with the money inside next to my breast, clapped on the oldest hat I could find, and wended my way down Bridge load again. I got there about hali-past 6 o'clock, but she was a very much older woman than when I saw her in the morning. I went in — after looking all round to see there was nobody about — on the pretext of buying some oranges, and happening casually to remark, ' You don't seem to be well this evening?' the whole tale came out. ' But haven't you an I.'1 .' idea who took the money? ' I inquired. ' No,' she replied, in a dreamy sort of way ; ' there was a young gentleman came in and bought some collars some- time before I missed the money : perhaps it was him, and perhaps again it wasn't.' ' But wouldn't you know the chap you call a young gentleman if you were to see him again ? ' was my next question. ' No, I would not,' she replied ; * you see, I didn't tak~ aay^^eo-iaseb-aeM^jft nf- him .' — Ulsil »_ then, don't know him again,' I said, as I whipped my hand into my breast, pulled out the money, and dumped it down on the , counter before her. She was going down on her knees to bless me ; I felt that she was ; but with a final, ' Slind you never know him again ! ' I stalked quickly out of, the shop, and walked rapidly back towards town. I tell you I was walking on air as I went up towards Lennox street ; and now here's where the funny part of the tale comes in. Just as I got to the corner of the street — a little before 7 o'clock — there was a big bookseller's shop, and in the window was a number of those ' Deadwood Dicks ' that I told -you before have had such an effect in moulding my career. Some of them I had not read before, and, the old fascination coming over me, I went in to purchase them. There was nobody "in attendance, but in an adjoining room, up two or thr.ee steps, I could hear a I voice : ' Ah, I got on to you that time ! ' Creeping up quietly, I found that the two shop assistants were (passing their tea hour in having a bout with the boxing gloves, and, not wishing to spoil sport — as you know,- I was never one to do that — I left them at it, and devoted my attention to the till and in other directions. I finished up with abstracting all the postage stamps even ; and when I got safely home I tell you I had a real splendid haul — close on £140 altogether. Now, if I hadn't given the old la«v back hep* .£9O I would never have struck that jrtatch: so that, you see, even at my game honesty is sometimes the best policy after all."

"And was that the end of the transaction?" I inquired, when he had brought his narrative to a close.

"Yes, and no," was the rejoinder. "So far as the bookseller's shop touch was concerned, there was never any trouble about that ; they never bowled that out. But the old lady put me away though. " "You surprise me," I -remarked ; "especially after your warning to her never to know the party again."

"Oh, I don't blame her much," Tom continued ; "for if I had followed up what happened after she dttd put me away I might have been a different man today. You see, it was this way:; Some considerable time after the thing happened I was strolling down Bourke street one afternoon, when who should I run up against but Detective Crooke. You've heard of Crooke, haven't you? — one of the whitest men that was ever in the Criminal Investigation Department. After saluting me, he remarked, ' Come in here and have a drink, Tom ; I want to speak to you.' "I knew there was nothing against me just then, for, as a matter of fact, I was only just back from ' the farm,' and so I went in with him. I passed the remark to him, 'I can't stay long in your company, Crooke ; it mightn't be any_ too healthy for me one of these dark nights if any of the boys were to twig us confabbing together.' "'Oh, that's all right, Tom,' said Crooke ; 'I am not in the force now. I couldn't stand that game. It didn't suit me. I have taken up a selection in Gippsland, and as you're a big strong young fellow I want you to come up there with me, and get out of your town associations. You knvw what the end of those must be?'

" ' Yes,' I replied j ' there's only one ending, I suppose. But, tell me, why this sudden interest on your part in my

welfare? I can't for the life of me understand it."

" ' Well,' he said, ' I always did have a pretty good opinion of you, but I thought a deal more of you after I became aware that you gave that old woman her money back.' " ' Who told you that ? ' I asked, completely flabbergasted. " ' She told me herself,' was his reply. 'But you mustn't blame her; it was quite an accident. You sec, on the morning she discovered she had lost her money she came straight into the Detective Office in Russell street, and I was put o"n the job. Then the next day she came in again, and said that there was no need to trouble further about it — that she) found she had misplaced it, and that nobody had taken it. I knew that was all bunkum, and a few days afterwards I met her in Bourke street, and tried to ferret out the real strength of the transaction. Whilst we were talking you happened to pass down on the other side of the road, and whilst staring at you sfs if the eyes would start out of her head she clasped my arm convulsively, and cried, doubtless without knowing wnat she was doing, "There ! There's the young - fellow that gave me my money back !" That's why I took an interest in you, Tom; and that's why I now ask you to come up to Gippsland with me, and start a new life.'

"But I was always mulish and obstinate, as you know, and I wouldn't fall in with his ideas. It would have been a deal better for me and mine if I had.'