Thubway Tham's Engagement

by Johnston McCulley

Thubway Tham's
Engagement

^by Johnston McCulley
Author of “A Crook Without Honor,” etc.

DOWN the busy street toward Madison Square Thubway Tham walked slowly. His chest was thrown out like that of a pouter pigeon, his head was held high, and there was a smile upon his face. His brown cap was tilted at a rakish angle. The cigarette which usually drooped from one corner of his mouth was not drooping at all to-day—it was cocked heavenward as though to announce to the world that the smoker was in a different mood.

On a corner was a vender of bananas and apples, who possessed a voice of raucous texture that usually annoyed Thubway Tham and made him wish that he were a thug for half a minute or so. To-day, however, Thubway Tham merely grinned because the voice of the vender seemed to have a humorous quality.

A skidding taxicab came within a few inches of crushing Thubway Tham's left foot against the curbing, and instead of glaring after the machine and muttering things concerning the careless chauffeur, Thubway Tham jumped back upon the walk and actually laughed.

When safely across the street and at the corner of the square, Tham leaned against the railing and surveyed the scene. He had surveyed it some thousands of times before, because Madison Square happened to be one of his favorite spots in the city, but he found now that never before had he appreciated it properly.

The sparrows and pigeons seemed to be twice as active and entertaining as usual. The trees and flowers were wonders of nature. The statues and monuments seemed to have taken on a new dignity. Tham found, also, that the passing throngs were more interesting than usual. He glanced at the men and hoped that all were prosperous and happy. He looked at the women—and no matter at what one he looked, he could see only one face and form!

Thubway Tham, humming a bit of song beneath his breath, wandered slowly down a diagonal walk and finally sat down on an unoccupied bench. He smiled fatuously. In the old days a person might have thought that Thubway Tham had been investigating the bottom of the cup and had acquired what was known in idiom as a “laughing jag.” But the wine that had intoxicated Thubway Tham did not come in bottles.

For fifteen minutes he sat there, glancing up now and then at the big clock in the high tower opposite. Once he felt reasonably certain that the big clock was slow, and drew out his watch for the sake of making a comparison. When he saw that they agreed, Tham wondered whether his watch could be depended on. Thubway Tham had an appointment and wanted to be on time.

He became interested in watching the antics of a couple of sparrows, and meanwhile he dreamed. He did not realize that a big man had come slowly along the walk, had seen Thubway Tham, and had grinned. Tham allowed his mind to wander until the big man sat down beside him and indulged in a series of chuckles that grew louder and louder until they approached the depth of a genuine, hearty laugh.

Thubway Tham turned his head with a jerk and saw that Detective Craddock was beside him. The headquarters man seemed to be enjoying himself hugely.

“Tho I thee your ugly fathe again, do 1?” Thubway Tham asked. “What theemth to be the matter with you, Craddock? Have you been takin'—laughing gath?”

“I—I don't need laughing gas, old-timer,” Detective Craddock stammered, wiping the tears of enjoyment out of his eyes. “Tham, first of all, allow me to offer my humble congratulations.”

“Thith ith tho thudden!” Tham declared. “And why the congratulationth, Craddock? Have you been fired off the polithe forthe? Ith that it?”

“Now, Tham, that is not the proper spirit for you to show!” the detective observed. “Your heart should be filled with love and kindness toward all men, Tham. You should be gentle and thoughtful and kind. You should not speak an unkind word or harbor a single unkind thought!”

“My goodneth!” Thubway Tham gasped. “I do not theem to grathp you.”

“Why, pretend, Tham—why pretend in the presence of a friend? Is it anything to be ashamed of? Your bosom should swell with pride, Tham.”

“Are you crathy, Craddock?”

“I'm not crazy,” Detective Craddock replied with cruel emphasis on the first word of the sentence.

“Then perhapth you will be tho kind ath to tell me what all thith futh ith about!”

“Why, Tham, I merely was congratulating you on your engagement, on your courage to enter the ranks of married men and contract to feed an extra mouth, or mouths, for life.”

“Oh!” Tham gasped.

“It is true, is it not, that you have decided to commit matrimony?”

“I thuppothe it ith,” replied Thubway Tham, who was commencing to feel a bit embarrassed.

“With Miss Nettie Burde, I believe.”

“That ith correct.”

“She is a fine girl, Tham. I hope that she'll be able to make a man out of you.”

“Thankth!” Thubway Tham grunted. “It ith a funny thing how you happen to know about it, though, becauthe it it didn't happen until day before yethterday. And I have not been goin' around town advertithin' it.”

“Why, the whole town knows it, Tham!” Craddock declared. “Your happiness is a topic of public discussion. You mentioned it to somebody, did you not?”

“I might have told 'Nothey' Moore.”

“Uh-huh! You might as well have written it out and pasted it on some bulletin board, Tham. Nosey Moore circulated the glad news, and those of the underworld who admire your capacity for nefarious work circulated it some more. And then there are the daily newspapers——”

“Ith it in the paperth?” Tham asked incredulously.

“It is in one of them, at least,” Detective Craddock replied. “You did not see it? On the front page, Tham—what they call a feature story. That is very unusual, Tham! No common society column for you and yours.”

“Are you tryin' to be funny, Craddock?”

“I am telling you the plain truth, old-timer. Here it is, on the front page o! your favorite morning paper. Allow me to read the article to you.”

Thubway Tham sat closer and peered over Detective Craddock's wide shoulder, and Craddock read the article slowly and in a very low voice:

“The aristocracy of the local underworld is agog over the announcement of the engagement of Mr. Thubway Tham, famous professional pickpocket, to Miss Nettie Burde, niece of Ted Burde of Philadelphia, a gentleman, these two years deceased, but who, in his day, was one of the best all-around con men in the business.

The love affair was short and swift, according to common report. Mr. Thubway Tham was supposed to be a confirmed bachelor, and has been famous for his oft-repeated declaration that 'all thkirth are the bunk!' One glance into the deep blue eyes of Miss Burde caused Mr. Tham to forget that conviction, however.

The date for the wedding has not been announced, but it is expected to occur in the near future. The bridegroom-to-be could not be located last evening. Perhaps he was traveling on a subway train; it is said that his business deals often are put over underground. Miss Burde, after a great deal of persuasion, confirmed the engagement.

Detective Craddock handed the newspaper to Thubway Tham and chuckled.

“There you are!” he said. “Right on the front page, Tham! It must be great to be famous.”

“Who do you thuppothe wrote that?” Tham demanded. “I could kill the thkunk! What right had he to——”

“Pause, Tham!” Detective Craddock implored. “It is common, plebeian, bourgeois to rave at the newspapers. The ordinary man does it, Tham. What do you care? Did you expect to keep the thing a secret forever? That reminds me, Tham! Is it your expectation to reform after your marriage?”

“What do you mean, reform?” Tham wanted to know.

“How do you expect to make a living for yourself and bride, Tham? Going to continue lifting leathers?”

“Did you ever happen to thee me lift one?” Tham asked.

“To my sorrow, I have not, Tham,” Craddock replied. “But one of these days——”

“I know!” Tham interrupted. “One of thethe dayth you are going to catch me with the goodth and thend me up the river for a big, long term. Craddock, you make me thick! You have been thayin' that for almotht two yearth now, and all you do ith talk!”

“Uh-huh! But we are getting away from our subject, Tham. Do you expect to maintain the establishment of a married man by picking pockets in the subway?”

“My planth for the future have not been completed,” Thubway Tham acknowledged. “Doeth every man change hith buthineth jutht becauth he geth married?”

“What does the little lady think about it?”

“Ith thith the third degree?” Tham asked scornfully. “Ith it any of your buthineth what the little lady thinkth about it? Craddock, you are an awful ath at timeth!”

“We all are, Tham,” Craddock said softly.

“Maybe you think that I thould not get married at all?” Tham said.

“It is a man's privilege, Tham, if he can make some woman think he is good enough. Still, it will be hard on the wife when you are nabbed and sent up the river.”

“Yeth? By that time we will be rich and retired, Craddock, if I have to wait for you to catch me. My goodneth! Can't a man get married without the newsthpaperth writin' it up and every thilly ath tryin' to give advithe? And that newthpaper man went too far! I am goin' to find out thomethin' about that!”

“Going to lick the editor, Tham?”

“I may, at that!” Thubway Tham declared. “Athault and battery ith not ethactly my line, but I can make it my line for a few minuteth, What right hath the thimp to thay thingth like that in hith paper?”

“You'll get over it, Tham,” Craddock said. “When does the marriage occur?”

“That hath not been thettled.”

“Do I get an invitation?” Craddock asked.

“I'll thee about it. Maybe there will be no invitationth at all.”

“The young lady will cease being a stenographer after her marriage, I suppose!”

“Thertainly!” Tham replied. “Do you think 1 would let my wife work?”

“Watch out how you work yourself!” the detective warned. “You have been having things pretty much your own way, Tham. But the law is as sure as it is slow, Tham. And if there appears to be renewed activity by pickpockets in the subway, we'll know where to look for the guilty man. It wouldn't be right, Tham, to collect from an unsuspecting public funds for your household expenses.”

“Tho?” Tham sneered. “You are full of advithe to-day, ain't you, Cradhdock?” Thuppothe that you 'tend to your polithe buthineth and let me 'tend to my own affairth. I don't thee how the fact that I am goin' to be married giveth everybody the right to thpill a lot of utheleth wordth around me. It maketh me thick!”

Without another word Thubway Tham arose from the bench and went along the walk, leaving the Craddock behind him.

Things had changed for Thubway Tham because of Craddock and the newspaper story. He did not hum a song. His cigarette sagged again. His chest seemed to cave in, his head drooped forward, and he glared when he passed the corner and heard the raucous voice of the vender of apples and bananas.

II.

Tham could not remain in low spirits for long, however. He had an engagement to meet Nettie Burde and take her to luncheon, and so, before he had walked two blocks, the sun was shining on the world once more, so to speak,

Tham glanced at his watch and discovered that he would just have time to reach the office building in which Miss Burde worked. He quickened his stride, and his face glowed with anticipation. Perhaps, after all, it would be foolish to take notice of the newspaper story, he told himself. When a man meant to be married he was an open target for all would-be jokers, Tham knew.

He came to the corner and hurried toward the entrance of the building where he was to meet Nettie Burde. He saw that she already was standing near the doorway, waiting for him. She looked up, saw him, and hurried to him through the crowd. Tham's face glowed again, and then clouded. For his fiancée was not happy and smiling as usual. Thubway Tham felt a sudden fear.

“What ith the matter?” Tham wanted to know. “Don't you feel well? Are you thick?”

“Let's wait until we get to the restaurant before we start talking, Tham,” she said.

That remark worried Tham considerably, of course. He led her through the throng and across the street, toward a quiet little restaurant where they had eaten before.

Had this vision beside him, on second thought, decided that she did not care to marry him? Had Nettie Burde reached a decision that married life was not the best for her, after all? Tham tormented himself with these and a score of similar questions, for which he found no answers, but he did not ask her about affairs, since she had postponed her explanation.

They entered the restaurant, got a table back in a corner, and ordered. After the food had been placed before them and the waiter had retired, Thubway Tham leaned across the table, concern in the expression of his face.

“What ith it, Nettie?” he asked.

“I—I've lost my job, Tham!”

Thubway Tham gasped. “Well, my goodneth!” he said. “Ith that all that ith troublin' you? You wath goin' to throw up the old job anyway, wathn't you?”

“Yes,” she replied. “But—but that isn't like being fired!”

“I thuppothe not. But don't you care, Nettie! You don't need the old job. How did it happen?”

“There was a piece in the paper this morning,” she said, “about—about us.”

“Yeth! Craddock thowed it to me,” Tham admitted. “The thilly ath who wrote it up!”

“And everybody at the office read it, of course, before I reported for work,” Nettie Burde continued. “When I came the boss called me into his office. He had noticed that the name of the girl was the same as mine, he said, and he wanted to know if I was the girl. I told him that I was.”

“And then what?” Tham wanted to know.

“He fired me,” Nettie said. “He told me that it was bad enough to be the niece of an old con man, but that it was worse to marry a pickpocket. And, Tham, he said he was afraid I'd lift his watch or juggle him out of a bundle of bonds. I—I couldn't say anything, Tham, except tell him what I thought of him.”

“Why, the thimp!” Tham exclaimed. “I thall go up to hith office and thmath in hith bean!”

“That wouldn't do any good, Tham. You'd be arrested, and then the papers would print a lot more about us. But it makes me mad, Tham! It's all the fault of that piece in the paper. The reporter found me last night at the house, and he pestered me until I admitted that we were engaged. But I—I didn't suppose he would write it up that way.”

“I'd like to meet the thimp!” Tham declared.

“I didn't like him, Tham. He grinned at me all the time. And he asked such funny questions. He seemed to think that our getting married was a joke. And it isn't a joke, is it, Tham, any more than it is for other folks to get married.”

Thubway Tham reached across the table and grasped her hand.

“It ith no joke!” he said. “We have ath much right to get married ath anybody elthe. And don't you care about gettin' fired. Thome fine day I will meet your old both in the thubway when he hath a wallet in hith hip pocket, and then he thall pay for hith little trick!”

“But it made me feel so bad——”

“You eat your lunch, Nettie, and forget all about that job and the piethe in the newthpaper,” Tham said. “And maybe we can get married quicker now. We can jutht thlip down and get the lithenthe and find thomebody to do the work, and then thlip away for a honeymoon trip. That ith, unleth you have changed your mind and do not want to marry a thimp like me.”

“Tham, you're not a simp. I want you to stop calling yourself names.”

“All right,” Tham agreed. “And what are we goin' to do with the retht of the day? Thinthe you have no job, you have no work to do.”

“Haven't I?” she asked, brightening. “Think a girl who's going to be married hasn't anything to do? You take me up the street, Tham, and let me go home, and then you can come this evening, and we'll go to a picture show. I've got sewing to do.”

Tham, being forced to agree, paid the check and led the way out of the restaurant. They wandered slowly up the street through the crowds, and finally they came to a corner, with Nettie's rooming house only a block away.

“Now you go on about your business, Tham,” she said. “I'll go home and get some of that sewing done.”

“And when do we get married?”

“We'll talk about that this evening, Tham.”

Tham's eyes glowed as he looked at her. Then he noticed a swift change come over her face.

“What ith the matter now?” he asked.

“That man crossing the street,” she said. “He—he is the reporter, Tham—the one who came to see me last night.”

“The one with the gray thuit?” Tham asked,

“Yes.”

“Good-by!” said Tham. “I'll thee you thith evenin'.”

“Tham! What are you going to do?” she asked in sudden alarm.

“Nothin' that'll get our nameth in the paperth again,” Tham declared. “You go home and thew, and don't worry”

They parted, and Thubway Tham hurried up the street after the man in the gray suit. He was a medium-sized man who seemed to be alert, alive, on the tips of his toes, as it were. It was a dangerous type for a pickpocket to consider.

But Tham considered him, nevertheless. He drew as near as possible, and then beheld his quarry stop to speak to another man on a corner. Thubway Tham got near enough to hear the words.

“Yes—good story,” said the man in gray. “Just happened to stumble on it. I'm going to follow it up, too. There'll be a chance to write a dandy feature when that marriage comes off.”

“I'd watch my pockets, if I were you,” the other answered. “This Thubway Tham might go out after a little revenge.”

“Huh! He's probably glad for the publicity,” said the man in gray.

“I didn't know a crook courted publicity,” said the other.

“They like to see their names in the papers,” the man in gray declared. “When they get married I'm going to get his mug out of the rogues' gallery and run his picture and number. I'll have the girl snapped by a staff photographer, too.”

Finally the friends separated, and Thubway Tham, his blood boiling, continued following the man in gray. His eyes narrowed and his breath came quicker when he noticed that his quarry was making for the nearest subway entrance. Tham supposed that he was going downtown to “Newspaper Row.”

When the reporter went down the steps and along the platform Tham was not more than a dozen feet behind him. Tham stood within two paces of him in the crowd as they waited for a downtown express. The train roared in, and Tham got into the same car as the man in gray, glanced around casually, and then edged nearer his prospective victim.

The car was jammed, and Tham and the man in gray were forced to stand near one of the doors, which was as Thubway Tham desired it. At every station men, women, and. children crowded in and out and jostled them, and Tham knew that another little jostle at the proper time probably would go unnoticed by the man in gray.

Tham managed to swing against him as the train rounded a curve, and gave a little gasp of joy. He had felt a wallet in the hip pocket of the newspaper man!

Once more Tham glanced at the others near him. He did not see any officer of the law. He saw nobody who seemed to be paying the slightest attention to him. He lurched nearer the newspaper man again and waited for the train to rush into the next station.

It was the station, evidently, where the newspaper man intended getting off. The train came to a stop, the doors slipped open, and Thubway Tham lurched forward with the others. For an instant he was pressed against the the man in gray. During that instant his clever hand did its work. The fat wallet was slipped into Thubway Tham's coat pocket, and he thrust his way through the crowd and hurried up the steps to the street.

Thubway Tham was rejoicing. He was within a few blocks of the lodging house of Nosey Moore, where he had his room. He decided to go there before investigating the “leather” he had “lifted,” though it was his policy, as a professional and successful dip, to get rid of a “leather” as quickly as possible.

He hurried to the lodging house, went up the rickety stairs, nodded to the landlord, and went to this room. The door locked, Tham sat down on the edge of bed and drew out the wallet.

“Tho!” he said. “Thquare with the thimp already! Maybe he will know better the next time!”

Then Thubway Tham opened the wallet and spread its contents out on the bed. He grunted in huge disgust.

There were no coins, there was no sheaf of currency. There was only a mass of unpaid bills, some of them much worn, and urgent requests to “remit.”

Thubway Tham, on the trail of revenge, had forgotten one thing—that an active newspaper reporter never has enough money to make him profitable game for pickpockets!