Traffic in Souls: A Novel of Crime and Its Cure

  CHAPTER IX

  THE BUSY MART OF TRADE

  The hypocrisy of William Trubus and the silly fatuity of his reformwork rankled in Burke's bosom as he betook himself uptown to enjoy hisbrief vacation for an afternoon with his old friend, the inventor.Later he was to share supper when the girls came home from their work.

  John Barton was busy with his new machine, and had much to talk about.At last, when his own enthusiasm had partially spent itself, he noticedBurke's depression.

  "What is the trouble, my boy? You are very nervous. Has anything gonewrong?"

  Bobbie hesitated. He wished to avoid any mention of the case in whichLorna had so unfortunately figured. But, at last, he unfolded thestory of his interview with the alleged philanthropist, describing thesituation of the gangsters and their work in general terms.

  Barton shook his head.

  "They're nearly all alike, these reformers in mahogany chairs, Burke.I've been too busy with machinery and workmen, whom I always tried tohelp along, to take much stock in the reform game. But there's nodenying that we do need all the reforming that every good man in theworld can give us. Only, there are many ways to go about it. Even I,without much education, and buried for years in my own particular kindof rut, can see that."

  "The best kind of reform will be with the night stick and the bars ofSing Sing, Mr. Barton," answered Burke. "Some day the police will worklike army men, with an army man at the head of them. It won't bepolitics at all then, but they'll have the backing of a man who is onthe firing line, instead of sipping tea in a swell hotel, or swappingyarns and other things in a political club. That day is not fardistant, either, to judge from the way people are waking things up.But we need a little different kind of preaching and reforming now."

  Barton leaned back in his wheel chair and spoke reminiscently.

  "Last spring I spent Sunday with a well-to-do friend of mine in abeautiful little town up in Connecticut. We went to church. It was anold colonial edifice, quaint, clean, and outside on the green before itwere forty or fifty automobiles, for, as my friend told me with pride,it was the richest congregation in that part of New England.

  "Inside of the church was the perfume of beautiful spring flowers whichdecorated the altar and were placed in vases along the aisles. In thecongregation were happy, well-fed, healthy business men who enlivenedexistence with golf, motoring, riding, good books, good music, goodplays and good dinners. Their wives were charmingly gowned. Theirchildren were rosy-cheeked, happy and normal.

  "The minister, a sweet, genial old chap, recited his text after thesinging of two or three beautiful hymns. It was that quotation fromthe Bible: 'Look at the lilies of the field. They toil not, neither dothey spin.' In full, melodious tones he addressed his congregation,confident in his own faith of a delightful hereafter, and still betterblessed with the knowledge that his monthly check was not subject tothe rise and fall of the stock market!

  "In his sermon he spoke of the beauties of life, the freshness ofspring, its message of eternal happiness for those who had earned thegolden reward of the Hereafter. He preached optimism, the subject ofthe unceasing care and love of the Father above; he told of thespiritual joy which comes only with a profound faith in the Almighty,who observes even of the fall of the sparrow.

  "Through the window came the soft breezes of the spring morning, theperfume of buds on the trees and the twitter of birds. It was a sweetrelief to me after having left the dreary streets of the city and ourbusy machine shop behind, to see the happiness, content, decency andright living shining in the faces of the people about me. The charm ofthe spring was in the message of the preacher, although it was in hiscase more like the golden light of a sunset, for he was a good old man,who had followed his own teachings, and it was evident that he wasbeloved by every one in his congregation. A man couldn't help lovingthat old parson--he was so happy and honest!

  "When he completed his sermon of content, happiness and unfalteringfaith, a girl sang an old-time offertory. The services were closedwith the music of a well-trained choir. The congregation rose. Theworshippers finally went out of the church, chatting and happy with thethought of a duty well done in their weekly worship, and, last but notleast, the certainty of a generous New England dinner at home. Thechurch services were ended. Later in the afternoon would be a shortsong service of vespers and in the evening a simple and sincere meetingof sweet-minded, clean-souled young men and women for prayer service.It was all very pretty.

  "As I say, Burke, it was something that soothed me like beautiful musicafter the rotten, miserable, wretched conditions I had seen in thecity. It does a fellow good once in a while to get away from the gripof the tenements, the shades of the skyscrapers, the roar of thefactories, and the shuffling, tired footsteps of the crowds, the smellof the sweat-shops.

  "But, do you know, it seemed to me that that minister missed something;that he was _too contented_. There was a message that man _could_ havegiven which I think might perhaps have disagreed with the digestions ofhis congregation. Undoubtedly, it would have influenced the hand thatwrote the check the following month.

  "I wondered to myself why, at least, he could not have spoken to hisflock in words something like this, accompanied by a preliminary poundon his pulpit to awaken his congregation from dreams of golf, roastchicken and new gowns:

  "'You business men who sit here so happy and so contented withhonorable wives, with sturdy children in whose veins run the blood of adozen generations of decent living, do you realize that there are anyother conditions in life but yours? Do you know that Henry Brown, JoeSmith and Richard Black, who work as clerks for you down in your NewYork office, do not have this church, do not have these spring flowersand the Sunday dinners you will have when you go back home? Does itoccur to you that these young men on their slender salaries may besupporting more people back home than you are? Do you know that manyof them have no club to go to except the corner saloon or the poolroom? Do you know that the only exercise a lot of your poor clerks,assistants and factory workers get is standing around on the streetcorners, that the only drama and comedy they ever see is in a dirty,stinking, germ-infected, dismal little movie theater in the slums; thatthe only music they ever hear is in the back room of a Raines Law hotelor from a worn-out hurdy-gurdy?

  "'Why don't you men take a little more interest in the young fellowswho work for you or in some of the old ones with dismal pasts and worsefutures? Why don't you well-dressed women take an interest in thestenographers and shop girls, the garment-makers--_not_ to condescendand offer them tracts and abstracts of the Scriptures--but to improvethe moral conditions under which they work, the sanitary conditions,and to arrange decent places for them to amuse themselves after hours.

  "'Surely you can spare a little time from the Golf Clubs and UniversityClubs and Literary Clubs and Bridge Clubs and Tango Parties. Let metell you that if you do not, during the next five or ten years, thepeople of these classes will imbibe still more to the detriment of ourrace, the anarchy and money lust which is being preached to them daily,nightly and almost hourly by the socialists, the anarchists and theatheists, who are all soured on life because they've never _had_ it!

  "'The tide of social unrest is sweeping across to us from the Old Worldwhich will engulf our civilization unless it is stopped by the jettiesof social assistance and the breakwaters of increased moral education.You can't do this with Sunday-school papers and texts! You can't stemthe movement in your clubs by denouncing the demagogues over highballglasses and teacups.

  "'It is all right to have faith in the good. It is well to have hopefor the future. Charity is essential to right living and righthelping. But out of the five million people in New York City, fourmillion and a half have never seen any evidence of Divine assistancesuch as our Good Book says is given to the sparrow. They are notlilies of the field. They must toil or die. You people are to themthe lilies of the field! Your fine gowns, your happy lives, yourendless opportunities for amuse
ment; your extravagances are to them asthe matador's flag to the bull in the Spanish ring. Unless you _do_take the interest, unless you _do_ fight to stem the movement of thesedwarfed and bitter leaders, unless you _do_ overcome their argumentsbased on much solid-rock truth by definite personal work, by definiteconstructive education, your civilization, my civilization and thecivilization of all the centuries will fall before socialism andanarchy.'

  "But _that_ was not what he said. I have never heard the minister of arich congregation say that yet. Have you, Burke?"

  "No, the minister who talked like that would have to look for a newpulpit, or get a job as a carpenter, like the Minister long ago, whomade the rich men angry. But I had no idea that you thought about suchthings, Mr. Barton. You'd make a pretty good minister yourself."

  The old inventor laughed as he patted the young man on the back.

  "Burke, the trouble with most ministers, and poets, and painters, andnovelists, and law-makers, and other successful professional men whoare supposed to show us common, working people the right way to go isthat they don't get out and mix it up. They don't have to work for amean boss, they don't know what it is to go hungry and starved andafraid to call your soul your own--scared by the salary envelope at theend of the week. They don't get out and make their _souls_ sweat_blood_. Otherwise, they'd reform the world so quickly that men likeTrubus wouldn't be able to make a living out of the charity game."

  Barton smiled jovially.

  "But here we go sermonizing. People don't want to listen to sermonsall the time."

  "Well, we're on a serious subject, and it means our bread and butterand our happiness in life, when you get right down to it," said Bobbie."I don't like sermons myself. I'd rather live in the Garden of Eden,where they didn't need any. Wouldn't you?"

  "Yes, but my wheel chair would find it rough riding without anyclearings," said Barton. "By the way, Bob, I've some news for you. Mylawyer is coming up here to-night, to talk over some patent matters,and you can lay your family matters before him. He'll attend to thatand you may get justice done you. If you have some money back inIllinois, you ought to have it."

  "He can get all he wants--if he gives me some," agreed Burke, "and I'llback your patents."

  The old man started off again on his plans, and they argued andexplained to each other as happy as two boys with some new toys, untilthe sisters came home.

  Lorna was distinctly cool toward Burke, but, under a stern look fromMary, gave the outward semblance of good grace. The fact that he hadbeen present in her home at the time of her disastrous escapade, eventhough she believed him ignorant of it, made the girl sensitive andaloof.

  She left Mary alone with him at the earliest pretext, and Bobbie hadinteresting things to say to her: things which were nobody's businessbut theirs.

  Barton's lawyer came before Burke left to report for evening duty, andhe spent considerable effort to learn the story of the uncle and thecurious will.

  Now a digression in narrative is ofttimes a dangerous parting of ways.But on this particular day Bobbie Burke had come to a parting of theways unwittingly. He had left the plodding life of routine excitementof the ordinary policeman to embark upon a journey fraught withmultifold dangers. In addition to his enemies of the underworld, hehad made a new one in an entirely different sphere.

  To follow the line of digression, had the reader gone into the samebuilding on Fifth Avenue which Burke had entered that afternoon,perhaps an hour later, and had he stopped on the third floor, entered adoor marked "Mercantile Agency," he would have discovered a very busylittle market-place. The first room of the suite of offices thusindicated was quite small. A weazened man, with thin shiny fingers, anunnaturally pallid face, and stooped shoulders, sat at a small flat-topdesk, inside an iron grating of the kind frequently seen in cashiers'offices.

  He watched the hall door with beady eyes, and whenever it opened toadmit a newcomer he subjected that person to keen scrutiny; then hepushed a small button which automatically clicked a spring in the lockof the grated door.

  This done, it was possible for the approved visitor to push past into alarger room shut off from the first office by a heavy door whichinvariably slammed, because it was pulled shut by a strong wire springand was intended to slam.

  The larger room opened out on a rear court, and, upon passing one ofthe large dirty windows, a fire escape could be descried. Around thisroom were a number of benches. Close scrutiny would have disclosed thefact that they were old-fashioned church pews, dismantled from somedisused sanctuary. Two large tables were ranged in the center of theroom.

  The floor was extremely dirty. The few chairs were very badly worn,and the only decorations on the walls were pasted clippings of prizefighters and burlesque queens, cut from the pages of _The PoliceGazette_ and the sporting pages of some newspapers.

  Into this room, all through the afternoon, streamed a curious medley ofpeople. Tall men, small men, rough men, dapper men, and loudly dressedwomen, who for the most part seemed inclined to corpulence. Theytalked sometimes; many seemed well acquainted. Others appeared to bestrangers, and they glanced about them uneasily, apparently suspiciousof their fellows.

  This seemed a curious waiting room for a Fifth Avenue "MercantileAgency."

  But inside the room to the left, marked "private," was the explanationof the mystery; at last there was a partial explanation of the curiousthrong.

  As the occupants chatted, or kept frigid and uneasy silence, in theouter room a fat man, smooth of face and monkish in appearance,occasionally appeared at the private portal and admitted one person ata time.

  After disappearing through this door, his visitors were not seen again,for they left by another door, which automatically closed and lockeditself as they went directly into the hall corridor where the elevatorsran.

  In the private office of the "Mercantile Agency" the fat man would sitat his desk and listen attentively to the words of his visitor.

  "Speak up, Joe. You know I'm hard of hearing--don't whisper to me,"was the tenor of a remark which he seemed to direct to every visitor.Yet strangely enough he frequently stopped to listen to voices in theouter room, which he appeared to recognize without difficulty.

  On this particular afternoon a dapper-dressed youth was an early caller.

  "Well, Tom, what luck on the steamer? Now, don't swallow your voice.Remember, I got kicked in the ear by a horse before I quit bookmaking,and I have to humor my hearing."

  "Oh, it was easy. That Swede, Jensen, came over, you know, and he hadpicked out a couple of peachy Swede girls who were going to meet theircousin at the Battery. Minnie and I went on board ship as soon as shedocked, to meet our relatives, and we had a good look at 'em while theywere lined up with the other steerage passengers. They were fine, andwe got Jensen to take 'em up to the Bronx. They're up at Molloy'shouse overnight. It's better to keep 'em there, and give 'em somefood. You know, the emigrant society is apt to be on the lookoutto-day. The cousin was there when the ferry came in from the Island,all right, but we spotted him before the boat got in, and I had MickeyBrown pick a fight with him, just in time to get him pinched. He wasfour blocks away when the boat landed, and Jensen, who had made friendswith the girls coming over, told them he would take 'em to his aunt'shouse until they heard from their cousin."

  "What do they look like? We've got to have particulars, you know."

  "Well, one girl is tall, and the other rather short. They both haveyellow hair and cheeks like apples. One's name is Lena and the otherMarda--the rest of their names was too much for me. They're both abouteighteen years old, and well dressed, for Swedes."

  The fat man was busy writing down certain data on a pad arranged in acurious metal box, which looked something like those on which grocers'clerks make out the order lists for customers.

  "Say, Henry, what do you use that thing for? Why don't you use afountain pen and a book?" asked the dapper one.

  "That's my affair," snapped the fat man. "I
want this for records, andI know how to do it. Go on. What did Mrs. Molloy pay you?"

  "Well, you know she's a tight one. I had to argue with her, and I havea lot of expense on this, anyway."

  "Go on--don't begin to beef about it. I know all about the expenses.We paid the preliminaries. Now, out with the money from Molloy. Itwas to be two hundred dollars, and you know it. Two hundred apiece isthe exact figure."

  The visitor stammered, and finally pulled out a roll of yellow-backedbills "Well, I haven't gotten mine yet," he whined.

  "Yours is just fifty on this, for you've had a steamer assignment everyday this week. You can give your friend Minnie a ten-spot. Now,report here to-morrow at ten, for I've a new line for you. Good day.Shut the door."

  The fat man was accustomed to being obeyed. The other departed with asurly manner, as though he had received the worst of a bargain. Themanager jotted down the figures on the revolving strip of paper, forsuch it was, while the pencil he used was connected by two little metalarms to the side of the mechanism. Some little wheels inside theregister clicked, as he turned the paper lever over for a clean record.He put the money into his wallet.

  He went to the door to admit another.

  "Ah, Levy, what do you have to say?"

  "Ah, Meester Clemm, eet's a bad bizness! Nattings at all to-day. I'vebeen through five shoit-vaist factories, and not a girl could I get.Too much of dis union bizness. I told dem I vas a valking delegate,but I don't t'ink I look like a delegate. Vot's to be done?"

  The manager looked at him sternly.

  "Well, unless you get a wiggle on, you'll be back with a pushcart,where you belong, over on East Broadway, Levy. The factories are fullof girls, and they don't make four dollars a week. Lots of prettyones, and you know where we can place them. One hundred dollarsapiece, if a girl is right, and that means twenty-five for you. You'vebeen drawing money from me for three weeks without bringing in a cent.Now you get on the job. Try Waverley Place and come in here to-morrow.You're a good talker in Yiddish, and you ought to be able to get someaction. Hustle out now. I can't waste time."

  The manager jotted down another memorandum, and again his machineclicked, as he turned the lever.

  A portly woman, adorned in willow plumes, sealskin cloak and wearinglarge rhinestones in her rings and necklace, now entered at themanager's signal.

  "Well, Madame Blanche, what have you to report?"

  "I swear I ain't had no luck, Mr. Clemm. Some one's put the gipsycurse on me. Twice this afternoon in the park I've seen two prettygirls, and each time I got chased by a cop. I got warned. I thinkthey're gettin' wise up there around Forty-second Street and SixthAvenue."

  "Well, how about that order we had from New Orleans? That hasn't beenpaid yet. You know it was placed through you. You got your commishout of it, and this establishment always wants cash. No money orders,either. Spot cash. We don't monkey with the United States mail.There's too many city bulls looking around for us now to get UncleSam's men on the job."

  The portly person under the willow plume, with a tearful face, began towipe her eyes with a lace kerchief from which, emanated the odor ofJockey Club.

  "Oh, Mr. Clemm, you are certainly the hardest man we ever had to dobusiness with. I just can't pay now for that, with my high rents, andgettin' shook down in the precinct and all."

  "Can it, Madame Blanche. I'm a business man. They're not doing anyshaking down just now in your precinct. I know all about the policesituation up there, for they've got a straight inspector. Now, I wantthat four hundred right now. We sent you just what was ordered and ifI don't get the money right now you get blacklisted. Shell out!"

  The manager's tone was hard as nails.

  "Oh, Mr. Clemm ... well, excuse me. I must step behind your desk toget it, but you ain't treatin' me right, just the same, to force itthis way."

  Madame Blanche, with becoming modesty, stepped out of view in order todraw forth from their silken resting place four new one hundred dollarbills. She laid them gingerly and regretfully on the desk, where theywere quickly snatched up by the business-like Clemm.

  "Maybe I'll have a little order for next week, if you can give betterterms, Mr. Clemm," began the lady, but the manager waved her aside.

  "Nix, Madame. Get out. I'm busy. You know the terms, and I adviseyou not to try any more of this hold-out game. You're a week late now,and the next time you try it you'll be sorry. Hurry. I've got a lotof people to see."

  She left, wiping her eyes.

  The next man to enter was somewhat mutilated. His eye was blackenedand the skin across his cheek was torn and just healing from a freshcut.

  "Well, well, well! What have you been up to, Barlow? A prize fight?"snapped Clemm.

  "Aw, guv'nor, quit yer kiddin'. Did ye ever hear of me bein' in afight? Nix. I tried to work dis needle gag over in Brooklyn an' I gotrun outen de t'eayter on me neck. Dere ain't no luck. I'd better goback to der dip ag'in."

  "You stick to orders and stay around those cheap department stores, asyou've been told to do, and you'll have no black eyes. Last month youbrought in eleven hundred dollars for me, and you got three hundred ofit yourself. What's the matter with you? You look like a panhandler?Don't you save your money? You've got to keep decently dressed."

  "Aw, guv'nor, I guess it's easy come, easy go. Ain't dere nottin'special ye kin send me on?"

  "Report here to-morrow at eleven. We're planning something prettygood. Here's ten dollars. Go rig yourself up a little better and getthat eye painted out. Hustle up. I'm busy."

  The dilapidated one took the bill and rolled his good eye in gratitude.

  "Sure, guv'nor, you're white wid me. I kin always git treated righthere."

  "Don't thank me, it's business. Get out and look like a man when I seeyou next. I don't want any bums working for me."

  The fat man jotted down a memorandum of his outlay on the littlemachine. Then he admitted the next caller.

  "Ah, it's you, Jimmie. Well, what have you to say? You've beenworking pretty well, so Shepard tells me. What about his row the othernight? I thought that girl was sure."

  "Well, Mr. Clemm, ye see, we had it fixed all right, an' some foxy ginkblows in wid a taxi an' lifts de dame right from outen Shepard's mit!De slickest getaway I ever seen. I don't know wot 'is game is, but hesure made some getaway, an' we never even got a smell at 'im."

  "Who was with you on the deal? Who did the come-on?"

  "Oh, pretty Baxter. You knows, w'en dat boy hands 'em de goo-goo an'wiggles a few Tangoes he's dere wid both feet! But dis girl was backon de job ag'in in her candy store next day. But Baxter'll git 'eryit. Shepard's pullin' dis t'eayter manager bull, so he'll git de gameyet."

  "Did her folks get wise?"

  "Naw, not as we kin tell. Shepard he seen her once after she left destore. De trouble is 'er sister woiks in de same place. We got tergit dat girl fired, and den it'll be easy goin'. De goil gits homewidout de sister findin' out about it, she tells Shepard. I don'tquite pipe de dope on dis butt-in guy. But he sure spoiled Shepard'sbeauty fer a week. Dere's only one t'ing I kin suspect."

  "All right, shoot it. You know I'm busy. This girl's worth the fight,for I know who wants one just about her looks and age. What is it?We'll work it if money will do it, for there's a lot of money in thisor I wouldn't have all you fellows on the job. I saw a picture shegave Baxter. She's a pretty little chicken, isn't she?"

  "Shoor! Some squab. Well, Mr. Clemm, dere's a rookie cop down in deprecinct w'ere I got a couple workin', named Burke. Bobbie Burke, damn'im! He gave me de worst beatin' up I ever got from any cop, an' I'mon bail now for General Sessions fer assaultin' 'im."

  "What's he got to do with it?"

  "Well, dis guy was laid up in de hospital by one of me pals who put 'imout on first wid a brick. He got stuck on a gal whose old man was indat hospital, and dat gal is de sister of dis yere Lorna Barton. Doesye git me?"

  Clemm's eye
s sparkled.

  "What does he look like? Brown hair, tall, very square shoulders?" heasked.

  "Exact! He's a fresh guy wid his talk, too--one of dem ejjicated cops.Dey tells me he was a collige boy, or in de army or somethin'."

  "Could he have known about Lorna Barton going out with Baxter thatnight Shepard was beaten?"

  "My Gaud! Yes, cause Baxter he tells me Burke was dere at de house."Clemm nodded his head.

  "Then you can take a hundred to one shot tip from me, Jimmie, that thisBurke had something to do with Shepard. He may have put one of hisfriends on the job. Those cops are not such dummies as we think theyare sometimes. That fellow's a dangerous man."

  Clemm pondered for a moment. Jimmie was surprised, for the manager ofthe "Mercantile Agency" was noted for his rapid-fire methods. The Monkknew that something of great importance must be afoot to cause thisdelay.

  The manager tapped the desk with his fingers, as he moved his lips, ina silent little conversation with himself. At last he banged the deskwith vehemence.

  "Here, Jimmie. I'm going to entrust you with an important job."

  The Monk brightened and smiled hopefully.

  "How much money would it take to put Officer Bobbie Burke, if that'shis name, where the cats can't keep him awake at night?"

  Jimmie looked shiftily at the manager.

  "You mean..."

  He drew his hand significantly across his throat, raising his heavyeyebrows in a peculiar monkey grimace which had won for him hissoubriquet.

  "Yes, to quiet his nerves. It's a shame to let these ambitious youngpolicemen worry too much about their work."

  "I kin git it done fer twenty-five dollars."

  "Well, here's a hundred, for I'd like to have it attended to neatly,quietly and permanently. You understand me?"

  "Say, I'm ashamed ter take money fer dis!" laughed Jimmie the Monk.

  "Don't worry about that, my boy. Make a good job of it. It's justbusiness. I'm buying the service and you're selling it. Now get out,for I've got a lot more marketing to do."

  Jimmie got.

  It was indeed a busy little market place, with many commodities forbarter and trade.