Seventeen Years in the UnderworldScott, Wellington
General
Seventeen Years in the Underworld
Scott, Wellington
Crime; Criminals; Prisons
Whatever part suggestion may have played in the lives of other men in
the underworld, it was a potent factor in one of the crimes of my early
career. The proprietor of the pool room which we made our rendezvous
had a relative who suddenly died. Wishing to show his affection for
the departed, he sent me to purchase a floral piece. Being short
of change, he wrote a check for ten dollars and bade me give it in
exchange for the wreath. From this incident in the life of legitimate
business was suggested an illegitimate use of the same idea. Why could
I not do the same thing? I reasoned. The more I thought of it, the more
certain I became of its feasibility. I tried it out and it succeeded
beyond all expectations. This success hastened me on to the inevitable
day of disaster. All crooks are possessed of a little more than their
due share of vanity; my success in the new line puffed up my pride
considerably. I was only a kid, I reasoned, doing a man’s work in the
underworld. Of course there was no big money involved, but the money
there was looked awfully big to me.
CHAPTER III
PERSISTING IN MISDEEDS
Every lane, the philosopher will tell you, has an ending. Mine stopped
abruptly. A check of mine was returned to the one who supposed me a
Carnegie. Having a good description of me, he lost no time in notifying
the police. Some ten weeks later, I walked into the arms of a waiting
policeman. I knew him well as an old friend of the family, and besought
him for their sakes to let me go. He couldn’t see it that way. Of
course he was sorry for me, and all that, but he had a duty to perform.
I put on as bold a front as I could as he led me to the nearest patrol
box. My impressions of that ride in the wagon are indistinct in my
memory. I do remember, however, the sensation of weight that seemed to
overwhelm me as I entered for the second time the station house. I was
held for trial and committed to jail until tried.
It was early summer and the courts had adjourned to meet again three
months hence. That time I must spend in jail, unless it were my
pleasure to plead guilty or unless I could arrange for bail. The latter
was out of the question; bail could not be had. Friends of the family
were unwilling to take the chance. Upon entering jail my mind was made
up to take my punishment at once and have it over with, but in jail I
met men older and abler in crime than I was, whose advice to me was
to demand a jury and take a chance. They reasoned with me that I had
everything to gain and nothing to lose by the experiment. I, of course,
took their advice.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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