A CASE OF PROMOTION.

Star (Christchurch), Issue 8452, 21 October 1905, Page 2

A CASE OF PROMOTION.

(By W. M. FERGUSON.) Hogan was Irish, ambitious, and a regenerate. The two adjectives qualified the noun. If he had not been Irish and ambitious, the many "facers" he had received in hie thirty-five years of life would long since have hammered the impregnable smile from Mb oountenr ance. The two principal factors in Hogan's life had both been women, and they, the. greatest determining influences that ever mould a man's character—his mother and his sweetheart. Hogan's mother had died when he was twelve years old. The clay of his character had been soft then, and she, the 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 course. Hogan once had a father. Sometimes he regretted the necessity of such a factor in the scheme of gene-ration. But what his father had lacked, his mother had over-balanced, and it is always the mother that touches the responsive chords in the heart' of the child. Hogan's mother had left in his soul, as a 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 family, but personally of poorer moral stamina than Hogan. Hogan never even 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 she had made a permanent wreck of her own fortunes as she had made a temporary one of his. And the bitterest part of all was that he still loved her, and always would! It was his nature. Hogan hod been an unfortunate for two yeans 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 self-respect, while the gold had but emerged refined. He was Irish, of aumble birth. He had been an electrijal mechanic; now he determined upon the police force. By hard work he passed his Civil Service examination and won his appointment as patrolman. Then 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 overHe 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 dimly realised, in his heavy, methodical, Germanic way, that Hogan's aggressive and intuitive blood might some day in the near future supplant him behind the desk if it was not tempered by an authoritative douche. At all evonts, two less competent men had been promoted over Hogan's head. Hogan's smile had become a little more giim and his energy a little more vola-^ tile. 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 nis way. But the old Police Commissioner was a new 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 foetid atmosphere of moral and physical degeneracy ; if he had known or his superhuman fight for self-respect and moral cleanliness, his eyes would have b^en 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 boy's image ever confronted him. He waited patiently year by year for the return of tfcfe prodigal. He made no effort to find him. He trusted blindly to the boy's inherent manhood. He hoped he had worked safely out of his past mistakes, righted himself in his own and his fellow mall'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 mpther 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 found no longer wanting. And so the old Police Commissioner dreamed. It was on a misty evening in late September when Captain Schmidt, of the ■—- i Precintst, lined up the night patrol in front of the desk for the usual instructions and orders. Among the

blueooats was on©, John Hogan, plain clothes man, who for the past week had been on poolroom detail i» tbATenderv loin. Among the various orders tne captain read the following notioe from headquarters : — . . WANTEIK-Charlw (alto " Spwt"), **** child, gambler, bookm«k«r mi 'fs^ Age, thirty-two years. Height, five *$•**£ fnohe», Weight, one hundred ana •»*'7potmds: .Hair, sandy, thin. Pw^lonftC^ dean-shave**, aom«umes small Van 1/yJt* b«ard. Complexion, clear. Birtihjßark, «**•• molea formed like « triangle on. right cheekr Known to be married and to have ona ohila. Formerly resided in West TWrty-fint Street. Wanted foT pawing forged cheque on tt» National Bani of thda city. Wh«n last aeea had on a light gtey raft,' tan-' aboi* eta, »td. " Keep your eyes open for him, men,' 1 concluded Captain Schmidt. "Th« Commissioner has determined to roohdup all the crooks and forgers, .and hia orders are strict. It might just hap* fn that your man is in this precinct, may say, unofficially, that it will be good work for the man who happens to run him in." - . . t The. men saluted and filed out,, They; were, accustomed to such orders. They seldom resulted in anything, The Gen? tral Office men had all the show when it came to trailing high-class game. It! would be owing to luck if the forger came their way. He had formerly lived in their precinct, and it was not likely that he would return to his old haunts for some time. More likely ho 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 hut detail he kept freshly dusted in his men? fcal Rogues* Gallery the- picture •of "Sport" Fairchild. He had come to know the characteristics of that face by heart. His soul was concentratea 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 met his eyes. Two months, three months slipped away. Then one evening, as Hogan wai standing on Fifth Avenue, his attention was attracted to the opposite corneri Patrolman Mullaney, of his precinct, had a small boy by the hand. The bo^ was about four years old, and dressed in a short reefer jacket and leather leg* gings. Hogan crossed idly over. " Lost?" he asked indifferently. " Shure," said Mullaney, a perplexet look wrinkling his Milesian oounten* auoe. "Been lost for four hours, 1 guess. Faix, the bye don't know hia own name, at all, nor where he lives, Oi'll have to be afther takin' him to th 1 station house." Hogan had a way with children. ..*. "Let me try," he said, and liftet the little chap in his strong arms. Th< violet glare Iroin a neighbouring an light struck full upon the child's frightened eyes. Large, grey eyes they were, and as they met Hogan's a vagu* memory thrilled through the latter. Bui it was not the eyes that had sent th< blood pounding in the plain clothes man's breast. It was the sight of thre« moles formed like a triangle upon th« child's right cheek. . Hogan's voice was steady and soottting. . , "And where were you going wnei you got lost?" he asked. "To— to see fawer," said the boy struggling to keep back the tears. "And don't you live with you) father?" pursued Hogan gently. / The child shook his,nead; "I live wiv — wiv muwer. Favver'i been away— a long way." said Hogan. "And so you faiftier has lust come back, eh?" The boy nodded slowly i . "Well, why didn't he come home t< see mother and his ' little boy.?. -'Al fathers do that the first thing, jot know," suggested the plain 1 clothe* man. . : . The child eyed him in grave surprise "Oh, but you know, rawer— f awe can't ' ' Better let me take him to th' house Ye' re wastin' time quizzin' th' lad,' interrupted Mullaney. But Hogan impatiently shook- w head. . . .;• v : - "And why can't father come hoiri< to see* mother and his little boyP" h< asked gently. " - , '• "Muwer says there is a lot of ba< "men who want— want to hurt fawer." "Oh," considered Ho,gan. "And« you were on your way to tell you; father to come home? That the bat men had gone away ? Ist that it, eh.P '.' The child nodded. ■" Fawer was going to take us away away." Hogan turned to Mullaney. "1 guess 1 know who this kid belong! to. 111- see him home," and taking tin boy in his arms,<-ho started toward Sixtl Avenue. ; . ;' ••■ " Have you ever been to your father i house before?" he asked, while on.hi way. ' „' ■:-. "Yes," said the boy. "Once mv? ver says fawer's been home for four five, days. You're not a bad, man? " bx finished suddenly, looking trustfully int< Hogan's eyes and tightening his hod. A queer thrill of self-contempt shoi into the plain clothes man's heart. Foi g, years now he been a strange] to hhat feeling. It was dirty work ok was engaged in — but duty and ambi tion stifled his conscience. "No, I'm not a bad man," he answered hurriedly. " And what doei your father's house lobk likeP" The boy considered. "It'j awful biz and — and dark and ! have to go up an awful lot of stairs." "Flat house," mused Hogan. "An< I suppose you have lots of fun looking cut of the windows at the cars? Yb« kiiow, the oars that run past on a high bridge," and he pointed to the elevated overhead. . , The boy said " Yes," with hia head. "I'll risk it as a flat house on Sixth Avenue." said Hogan to himself, "But where ? f> He and his little charge had reached the glare of the avenue. / Hogan considered, scratching hia chin. How could he find the elusive flat house? " Don't you know where your own home isP Your mother's P" he asked presently. "N — no. It's that way. A long way," and the child , pointed up the avenue. ' "And oan't you remember where your father lives? Try,' persuaded Hogan. , - . . . .■•■■■•. ••■.- .■. . . v./i The boy shook his head, x finger in mouth. ■ . . . ' ' Then how did you find your ,-^ay to your father's house the- last time you visited him? And how did you get home again?" grimly persists. ..the plain clothes man. "I went wiv muwer. Muwer came wiv me to-day but when w© got off the big car I— l got losted," ancf the tears would not be 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 he stooped and lifted him again in hw arms. Once more those grey eyes ; stirred a vague memory in his heart. "Now tell me child," he said impressively. " How did you know whenever you wore near your father's house! Wasn't there anything you used to like to watch, like the cars that went by the window? The cars on the hieh bridge?" , •- ' •■:.■. 'v^ The boy suddenly clapped his handfc "Oh, you mean, a car? A— a hig^* great big house. :on wheels all golded. and fawer would get a funny fat man wiv funny red hairto give me pies--^* But Hogan, recognition, pulsing iii his eyes, started up the avenue. " ' Dan's Pantrj' > on Thirty-seTenth Street, by. all that's holy." : r niai i" 4 r ii. W<B £° in K 0 '•**&*■#» asked the boy happily, layfe* hk drousy head, upon the \*6ad ihSulder of the detective. ■ - " -•.-.- *^5 "Yes," said Hogan. But His eves would not meet the trusting grey IT* so noar his own. v ** On the way ujj to Th^^y^

$treet Hogan's big heart was raked by many feelings. For the first time since joining the force he despised his calling — and yet he was about to earn the much-coveted step in promotionThe boy, whose golden head was so near hie own, had touch.cd a chord In his natui'e that had not actively vibrated for many years. 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 hie ambition. He crushed down the momentary spasm of weakness, of eelf-contempt. The boy was very tired and happy ■when they reached Thirty-seventh Btreet, and after a brief period of indecision he finally located ." favver's house." Hogan, * grim smile on his lips, pushed open the hall door and ascended the narrow, meanly-carpeted Bfcairs. At the boy's instructions he mounted three flights, then knocked at "fawerV door. There was silence, then footsteps sounded and the . door was opened half an inch. "Fawerl" 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 his right cheek— three moles formed like a triangle. ; " The 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 boy in the bhair, then faced the detective, a halfBmothered suspicion in his eyes. "I cannot thank you enough," he began impetuously. " His mother and [ have been distracted. His mother i? out looking " He bit off the sentence, suspicion rife in his eyes. " How did you know where the boy lived?" he finished slowly. " Oh, fawer, he's such a good man," exclaimed the boy, 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 j to see you at the station house. You're wanted on that forgery charge," he blurted out harshly. The man looked at him with unseeing ©yes, the blood slowly ebbing from bis cheek. He fiercely gripped at the table he had been leaning, against, thei» dropped into a chair and buried hib face in his hands. The boy, the sleep frightened from him, gazed at Hogan with wide, reproachful eyes, scrambled from the chair, and running over to his father, flung his arms about his neck. Hogan turned and glowered at the opposite wal. Finally the man raised his head. He had aged ten years in that one minute. "Let me go I", he demanded hoarsely, iwartioulately. " Let me go, I tell you-l 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 roice was pleading, imperative. "No one will ever know. God, you don't know how I've' worked to turn over a new leaf I Give me a chance I" He clenched his hands in an agony of supplication, passion. " I starved, I sweat* ed to— to scrape a home together 1 To — to be an honest man. I've got a small one out in Chicago. My record was against me here. I came on to bring back the wife and — and boy. ['ye 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 the man frenziedly. "It's nothing to you — everything to me. I've hoarded every honest penny ; my wife bas. slaved, starved, to pay oif 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 ;he word "gentleman." "Just one chance," he cried hoarsely. "For — for — the boy's sake. I'm not a felon. [ 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, where they don't know my record. Don't brand me a criminal I For God's sake, don't I It will kill my father — mother — wife--all, all.'' He sprang to his feet, his chest heaving, his hands working. The boy had huddled in the chair, staring at Hogan with wide, reproachful, wounded eyes. . "I'm sorry," said the detective Boggedly, "but it's my duty." But even as he said it he knew that it was his ambition. Then footsteps sounded in the corri- , dor, the hall door was flung open, and r, woman entered. As Her eyes met those of the boy. she gave a strangled cry, and, flying across the room, she clutched him fiercely to her breast. @he sobbed and laughed over him, utterly oblivious to the dramatic tableau at her back. The man was looking at her, love in his eyes, a tveary smile upon his white lips. Hogan's eyes, likewise, were riveted upon the sum, graceful figure. Then the woman, laughing and guTgling 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 the 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 her Boft cheek died quickly. . ' Hogan's gaze never flinched. He knew now why the boy's eyes had drawn ihis soul. He was looking into a pair 'of grey eyes he had not seen for twelve long years. The eyes of the womSan he loved. And by every law of God and man the boy he had held in his arms should have | been his. TKere was intense stillness in the shabby little room. The man's eyes wera travelling from Hogan to his wife and back again. He was too stunned by the sudden wreck of his life to understand. - Then Hogan turned slowly to the floor. "I— l am very glad that it was my lack -t/o find the little chap. Better keep an eye on him in the future, 3 ,' he said heavily. He looked straight at the man. "Chicago, I believe, is « pretty safe city for children. Goodnight," and opening the door, he passed quietly out. Honour and ambition were defeated ; love^ charity triumphant. ' In the course of another two years,, the oH Police Commissioner's faith in las wayward son was vindicated. The 'prodigal returned, weighed in the bal.ance of human achievement and foundnot wanting. He came on a flying "Visit from Chicago, where he held a responsible position with a prominent bank. He brought with Mm his wife and son. Of that reconciliation little need be recorded. There were many Itears 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 reoeive his long coveted step in promo- ; lion. .He skipped it. He was officially created » captain with a strong recommendation for an inspectorship. And : he wonders why the old Commissioner happened to select him for the honour.