BREAD from the WATERS.
The next day, worn out from loss of
sleep, the young man started out upon a last frenzied
search for employment. He had no money for breakfast,
and so he went breakfastless, and as he had no carfare
it was necessary for him to walk the seemingly interminable
miles from one prospective job to another. By
the middle of the afternoon Jimmy was hungrier than
he had ever been before in his life. He was so
hungry that it actually hurt, and he was weak from
physical fatigue and from disappointment and worry.
“I’ve got to eat,”
he soliloquized fiercely, “if I have to go out
to-night and pound somebody on the head to get the
price, and I’m going to do it,” he concluded
as the odors of cooking food came to him from a cheap
restaurant which he was passing. He stopped a
moment and looked into the window at the catsup bottles
and sad-looking pies which the proprietor apparently
seemed to think formed an artistic and attractive
window display.
“If I had a brick,” thought
Jimmy, “I would have one of those pies, even
if I went to the jug for it,” but his hunger
had not made him as desperate as he thought he was,
and so he passed slowly on, and, glancing into the
windows of the store next door, saw a display of second-hand
clothes and the sign “Clothes Bought and Sold.”
Jimmy looked at those in the window
and then down at his own, which, though wrinkled,
were infinitely better than anything on display.
“I wonder,” he mused,
“if I couldn’t put something over in the
way of high finance here,” and, acting upon
the inspiration, he entered the dingy little shop.
When he emerged twenty minutes later he wore a shabby
and rather disreputable suit of hand-me-downs, but
he had two silver dollars in his pocket.
When Jimmy returned to his room that
night it was with a full stomach, but with the knowledge
that he had practically reached the end of his rope.
He had been unable to bring himself to the point of
writing his father an admission of his failure, and
in fact he had gone so far, and in his estimation
had sunk so low, that he had definitely determined
he would rather starve to death now than admit his
utter inefficiency to those whose respect he most
valued.
As he climbed the stairway to his
room he heard some one descending from above, and
as they passed beneath the dim light of a flickering
gas-jet he realized that the other stopped suddenly
and turned back to look after him as Jimmy continued
his ascent of the stairs; and then a low voice inquired:
“Say, bo, what you doin’ here?”
Jimmy turned toward the questioner.
“Oh!” he exclaimed as
recognition of the other dawned slowly upon him.
“It’s you, is it? My old and esteemed
friend, the Lizard.”
“Sure, it’s me,”
replied the Lizard. “But what you doin’
here? Looking for an assistant general manager?”
Jimmy grinned.
“Don’t rub it in,” he said, still
smiling.
The other ascended toward him, his
keen eyes appraising him from head to foot.
“You live here?” he asked.
“Yes,” replied Jimmy; “do you?”
“Sure, I been livin’ here for the last
six months.”
“That’s funny,” said Jimmy; “I
have been here about two months myself.”
“What’s the matter with
you?” asked the Lizard. “Didn’t
you like the job as general manager?”
Jimmy flushed.
“Forget it,” he admonished.
“Where’s you room?” asked the Lizard.
“Up another flight,” said Jimmy.
“Won’t you come up?”
“Sure,” said the Lizard,
and together the two ascended the stairs and entered
Jimmy’s room. Under the brighter light there
the Lizard scrutinized his host.
“You been against it, bo, haven’t you?”
he asked.
“I sure have,” said Jimmy.
“Gee,” said the other,
“what a difference clothes make! You look
like a regular bum.”
“Thanks,” said Jimmy.
“What you doin’?” asked the Lizard.
“Nothing.”
“Lose your job?”
“I quit it,” said Jimmy.
“I’ve only worked a month since I’ve
been here, and that for the munificent salary of ten
dollars a week.”
“Do you want to make some coin?” asked
the Lizard.
“I sure do,” said Jimmy.
“I don’t know of anything 1 would rather
have.”
“I’m pullin’ off
something to-morrow night. I can use you,”
and he eyed Jimmy shrewdly as he spoke.
“Cracking a box?” asked Jimmy, grinning.
“It might be something like
that,” replied the Lizard; “but you won’t
have nothin’ to do but stand where I put you
and make a noise like a cat if you see anybody coming.
It ought to be something good. I been working
on it for three months. We’ll split something
like fifty thousand thirty-seventy.”
“Is that the usual percentage?” asked
Jimmy.
“It’s what I’m offerin’ you,”
replied the lizard.
Thirty per cent of fifty thousand
dollars! Jimmy jingled the few pieces of silver
remaining in his pocket. Fifteen thousand dollars!
And here he had been walking his legs off and starving
in a vain attempt to earn a few paltry dollars honestly.
“There’s something wrong somewhere,”
muttered Jimmy to himself.
“I’m taking it from an
old crab who has more than he can use, and all of
it he got by robbing people that didn’t have
any to spare. He’s a big guy here.
When anything big is doing the newspaper guys interview
him and his name is in all the lists of subscriptions
to charity—when they’re going to
be published in the papers. I’ll bet he
takes nine-tenths of his kale from women and children,
and he’s an honored citizen. I ain’t
no angel, but whatever I’ve taken didn’t
cause nobody any sufferin’—I’m
a thief, bo, and I’m mighty proud of it when
I think of what this other guy is.”
Thirty per cent of fifty thousand
dollars! Jimmy was sitting with his legs crossed.
He looked down at his ill-fitting, shabby trousers,
and then turned up the sole of one shoe which was
worn through almost to his sock. The Lizard watched
him as a cat watches a mouse. He knew that the
other was thinking hard, and that presently he would
reach a decision, and through Jimmy’s mind marched
a sordid and hateful procession of recent events—humiliation,
rebuff, shame, poverty, hunger, and in the background
the face of his father and the face of a girl whose
name, even, he did not know.
Presently he looked up at the Lizard.
“Nothing doing, old top,”
he said. “But don’t mistake the motives
which prompt me to refuse your glittering offer.
I am moved by no moral scruples, however humiliating
such a confession should be. The way I feel now
I would almost as lief go out and rob widows and orphans
myself, but each of us, some time in our life, has
to consider some one who would probably rather see
us dead than disgraced. I don’t know whether
you get me or not.”
“I get you,” replied the
Lizard, “and while you may never wear diamonds,
you’ll get more pleasure out of life than I ever
will, provided you don’t starve to death too
soon. You know, I had a hunch you would turn
me down, and I’m glad you did. If you were
going crooked some time I thought I’d like to
have you with me. When it comes to men, I’m
a pretty good picker. That’s the reason
I have kept out of jail so long. I either pick
a square one or I work alone.”
“Thanks,” said Jimmy,
“but how do you know that after you pull this
job I won’t tip off the police and claim the
reward.”
The Lizard grinned his lip grin.
“There ain’t one chance
in a million,” he said. “You’d
starve to death before you’d do it. And
now, what you want is a job. I can probably get
you one if you ain’t too particular.”
“I’d do anything,” said Jimmy, “that
I could do and still look a policeman in the face.”
“All right,” said the
Lizard. “When I come back I’ll bring
you a job of some sort. I may be back to-night,
and I may not be back again for a month, and in the
mean time you got to live.”
He drew a roll of bills from his pocket
and commenced to count out several.
“Hold on! “cried Jimmy. “Once
again, nothing doing.”
“Forget it,” admonished
the Lizard. “I’m just payin’
back the twenty you loaned me.”
“But I didn’t loan it
to you,” said Jimmy; “I gave it to you
as a reward for finding my watch.”
The Lizard laughed and shoved the money across the
table.
“Take it,” he said; “don’t
be a damn fool. And now so-long! I may
bring you home a job to-night, but if I don’t
you’ve got enough to live on for a couple of
weeks.”
After the Lizard had gone Jimmy sat
looking at the twenty dollars for a long time.
“That fellow may be a thief,”
he soliloquized, “but whatever he is he’s
white. Just imagine, the only friend I’ve
got in Chicago is a safe-blower.”