Criminals -- Fiction; Railroad station managers -- Fiction; Short stories
If he had four hundred dollars, all his own, he would throw up the
job and use it in one delicious round of travel. By the time it was
exhausted he could obtain another position in a pleasing environment.
In logical sequence he decided he might as well allow his imagination
a wider range and play at taking a vacation with the largest sum ever
entrusted to his care for a single night. He remembered this to be an
even thousand dollars, sent down by a big operator in payment for
horses in the lumber camps.
A thousand dollars offered his fancy vastly more possibilities to
work with. The four hundred became insignificant. As his duties
permitted him much time for reflection, he carried the thought back
to his dingy office and entertained it by consulting maps in the
railroad folders. In this fashion he took a hurried excursion across
the continent and spied out the land. Then he became critical and
weighed and balanced different localities.
The Southwest, free from cold, gray Autumnal rains, howling snows and
Spring inundations, finally appealed to him as being ideal. Of
course, there might be two thousand dollars entrusted to him any
night, especially now that it was Autumn and the lumbermen were
stocking up for the Winter campaign.
It was at that precise point that his cheek reddened and he felt a
touch of alarm as he angrily told himself such imagining was immoral,
for it was based on the suggestion that he steal the money. He
condemned the suggestion wrathfully as he walked a quarter of a mile
to the lonely home where he boarded, and yet he was more downcast
than ever over his colorless place in life.
On returning to the station to close up for the night, which meant a
weary wait for the up-passenger to pull in, he returned to the
suggestion abruptly and recklessly. It was the sight of the porters
making up the berths, the comradeship in the smoking compartment,
that plunged him into full revolt; only now he proceeded on the
theory the money was legitimately his.
“Well, I guess I’ve earned it. What if I should take it, providing I
could get away with it? How would I spend it?”
This surrender eased him much. Of course he wouldn’t take it, not a
penny; but it’s impossible to picture a career of spending until the
imagination has logically furnished the requisite possession. Now he
had mentally satisfied his imagination as to possession, although the
technique was illegal. Fortunately there is no law punishing a man
for inwardly discussing the possible assets of a crime.
Of course, Parsly merely intended to pursue his day-dreams unhampered
by any irritating self-criticism. He had systematically arranged his
data and could spend a million a day, should he choose. That was
where he erred. His imagination became a hard taskmaster, very
exacting. Once he accepted the suggestion that the money was to come
to him through theft, his methodical mind insisted on reviewing the
possibilities of detection before permitting him to enjoy the fruits.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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