THE PURITY LEAGUE AND ITS ANGEL
In a few days, when an afternoon's relief allowed him the time, Officer
4434 decided to visit the renowned William Trubus. He found the
address of that patron of organized philanthropy in the telephone book
at the station house.
It was on Fifth Avenue, not far from the windswept coast of the famous
Flatiron Building.
Burke started up to the building shortly before one o'clock, and he
found it difficult to make his way along the sidewalks of the beautiful
avenue because of the hordes of men and girls who loitered about,
enjoying the last minutes of their luncheon hour.
Where a few years before had been handsome and prosperous shops, with a
throng of fashionably dressed pedestrians of the city's better classes
on the sidewalks, the district had been taken over by shirtwaist and
cloak factories. The ill-fed, foul-smelling foreigners jabbered in
their native dialects, ogled the gum-chewing girls and grudgingly gave
passage-way to the young officer, who, as usual, when off duty, wore
his civilian clothes.
"I wonder why these factories don't use the side streets instead of
spoiling the finest avenue in America?" thought Bob. "I guess it is
because the foreigners of their class spoil everything they seem to
touch. Our great granddaddies fought for Liberty, and now we have to
give it up and pay for the privilege!"
It was with a pessimistic thought like this that he entered the big
office structure in which was located the headquarters of the Purity
League. Bob took the elevator in any but a happy frame of mind. He
was determined to find out for himself just how correct was Dr.
MacFarland's estimate of high-finance-philanthropy.
On the fourth floor he left the car, and entered the door which bore
the name of the organization.
A young girl, toying with the wires of a telephone switchboard, did not
bother to look up, despite his query.
"Yes, dearie," she confided to some one at the other end of the
telephone. "We had the grandest time. He's a swell feller, all right,
and opened nothing but wine all evening. Yes, I had my charmeuse
gown--the one with the pannier, you know, and----"
"Excuse me," interrupted Burke, "I'd like to speak to the president of
this company."
The girl looked at him scornfully.
"Just a minute, girlie, I'm interrupted." She turned to look at Bob
again, and with a haughty toss of her rather startling yellow curls
raised her eyebrows in a supercilious glance of interrogation.
"What's your business?"
"That's _my_ business. I want to see Mr. Trubus and not _you_."
"Well, nix on the sarcasm. He's too busy to be disturbed by every book
agent and insurance peddler in town. Tell me what you want and I'll
see if it's important enough. That's what I'm paid for."
"You tell him that a policeman from the ---- precinct wants to see him,
and tell him mighty quick!" snapped Burke with a sharp look.
He expected a change of attitude. But the curious, shifty look in the
girl's face--almost a pallor which overspread its artificial carnadine,
was inexplicable to him at this time. He had cause to remember it
later.
"Why, why," she half stammered, "what's the matter?"
"You give him my message."
The girl did not telephone as Burke had expected her to do, according
to the general custom where switchboard girls send in announcement of
callers to private offices.
Instead she removed the headgear of the receiver and rose. She went
inside the door at her back and closed it after her.
"Well, that's some service," thought Burke. "I wonder why she's so
active after indifference?"
She returned before he had a chance to ruminate further.
"You can go right in, sir," she said.
As she sat down she watched him from the corner of her eye. Burke
could not help but wonder at the tense interest in his presence, but
dismissed the thought as he entered the room, and beheld the president
of the Purity League.
William Trubus was seated at a broad mahogany desk, while before him
was spread a large, old-fashioned family Bible. He held in his left
hand a cracker, which he was munching daintily, as he read in an
abstracted manner from the page before him. In his right hand was a
glass containing a red liquid, which Burke at first sight supposed was
wine. He was soon to be undeceived.
He stood a full minute while the president of the League mumbled to
himself as he perused the Sacred Writ. Bobbie was thus enabled to get
a clear view of the philanthropist's profile, and to study the great
man from a good point of vantage.
Trubus was rotund. His cheeks were rosy evidences of good health, good
meals and freedom from anxiety as to where those good meals were to
come from. His forehead was round, and being partially bald, gave an
appearance of exaggerated intellectuality.
His nose was that of a Roman centurion--bold, cruel as a hawk's beak,
strong-nostriled as a wolf's muzzle. His firm white teeth, as they
crunched on the cracker suggested, even stronger, the semblance to a
carnivorous animal of prey. A benevolent-looking pair of gold-rimmed
glasses sat astride that nose, but Burke noticed that, oddly enough,
Trubus did not need them for his reading, nor later when he turned to
look at the young officer.
The plump face was adorned with the conventional "mutton-chop" whiskers
which are so generally associated in one's mental picture of bankers,
bishops and reformers. The whiskers were so resolutely black, that
Burke felt sure they must have been dyed, for Trubus' plump hands, with
their wrinkles and yellow blotches, evidenced that the philanthropist
must have passed the three-score milestone of time.
The white gaiters, the somber black of his well-fitting broadcloth coat
of ministerial cut, the sanctified, studied manner of the man's pose
gave Burke an almost indefinable feeling that before him sat a cleverly
"made-up" actor, not a sincere, natural man of benevolent activities.
The room was furnished elaborately; some rare Japanese ivories adorned
the desk top. A Chinese vase, close by, was filled with fresh-cut
flowers. Around the walls were handsome oil paintings. Beautiful
Oriental rugs covered the floor. There hung a tapestry from some old
French convent; yonder stood an exquisite marble statue whose value
must have been enormous.
As Trubus raised the glass to drink the red liquid Bobbie caught the
glint of an enormous diamond ring which must have cost thousands.
"Well, evidently his charity begins at home!" thought the young man as
he stepped toward the desk.
Tiring of the wait he addressed the absorbed reader.
"I beg your pardon, Mr. Trubus, but I was announced and told to come in
here to see you."
Trubus raised his eyebrows, and slowly turned in his chair. His eyes
opened wide with surprise as he peered over the gold rims at the
newcomer.
"Well, well, well! So you were, so you were."
He put down his glass reluctantly.
"You must pardon me, but I always spend my noon hour gaining
inspiration from the great Source of all inspiration. What can I do
for you? I understand that you are a policeman--am I mistaken?"
"No, sir; I am a policeman, and I have come to you to get your aid. I
understand that you receive a great deal of money for your campaign for
purifying the city, and so I think you can help me in a certain work."
Trubus waved the four-carat ring deprecatingly.
"Ah, my young friend, you are in great error. I do not receive much
money. We toil very ardently for the cause, but worldly pleasures and
the selfishness of our fellow citizens interfere with our solving of
the great task. We are far behind in our receipts. How lamentably
little do we get in response to our requests for aid to charity!"
He followed Bobbie's incredulous glance at the luxurious furnishings of
his office.
"Yes, yes, it is indeed a wretched state of affairs. Our efforts never
cease, and although we have fourteen stenographers working constantly
on the lists of people who could aid us, with a number of devout
assistants who cover the field, our results are pitiable."
He leaned back in his leather-covered mahogany desk chair.
"Even I, the president of this association, give all my time to the
cause. And for what? A few hundred dollars yearly--a bare modicum. I
am compelled to eat this frugal luncheon of crackers and grape juice.
I have given practically all of my private fortune to this splendid
enterprise, and the results are discouraging. Even the furniture of
this office I have brought down from my home in order that those who
may come to discuss our movement may be surrounded by an environment of
beauty and calm. But, money, much money. Alas!"
Just at this juncture the door opened and the telephone girl brought in
a basket full of letters, evidently just received from the mail man.
"Here's the latest mail, Mr. Trubus. All answers to the form letters,
to judge from the return envelopes."
Trubus frowned at her as he caught Burke's twinkling glance.
"Doubtless they are insults to our cause, not replies to our
importunities, Miss Emerson!" he hurriedly replied.
He looked sharply at Burke.
"Well, sir, having finished what I consider my midday devotions, I am
very busy. What can I do for you?"
"You can listen to what I have to say," retorted Burke; resenting the
condescending tone. "I come here to see you about some actual
conditions. I have read some of your literature, and if you are as
anxious to do some active good as you write you are, I can give you
enough to keep your entire organization busy."
It was a very different personality which shone forth from those sharp
black eyes now, than the smug, quasi-religious man who had spoken
before.
"I don't like your manner, young man. Tell me what you have to say,
and do it quickly."
"Well, yours is the Purity League. I happen to have run across a gang
of procurers who drug girls, and make their livelihood off the shame of
the girls they get into their clutches. I can give you the names of
these men, their haunts, and you can apply the funds and influence of
your society in running them to earth, with my assistance and that of a
number of other policemen I know."
Trubus rose from his chair.
"I have heard this story many times before, my young friend. It does
not interest me."
"What!" exclaimed Burke, "you advertise and obtain money from the
public to fight for purity and when a man comes to you with facts and
with the gameness to help you fight, you say you are not interested."
Trubus waved his hand toward the door by which Burke had entered.
"I have to make an address to our Board of Directors this afternoon,"
he said, "and I don't care to associate my activities nor those of the
cause for which I stand with the police department. You had better
carry your information to your superiors."
"But, I tell you I have the leads which will land a gang of organized
procurers, if you will give me any of your help. The police are trying
to do the best they can, but they have to fight district politics,
saloon men, and every sort of pull against justice. Your society isn't
afraid of losing its job, and it can't be fired by political influence.
Why don't you spend some of your money for the cause that's alive
instead of on furniture and stenographers and diamond rings!"
The cat was out of the bag.
Trubus brought his fist down with a bang which spilled grape juice on
his neat piles of papers.
"Don't you dictate to me. You police are a lot of grafters, in league
with the gangsters and the politicians. My society cares for the
unfortunate and seeks to work its reforms by mentally and spiritually
uplifting the poor. We have the support of the clergy and those people
who know that the public and the poor must be brought to a spiritual
understanding. Pah! Don't come around to me with your story of
'organized traffic.' That's one of the stories originated by the
police to excuse their inefficiency!"
Burke's eyes flamed as he stood his ground.
"Let me tell you, Mr. Trubus, that before you and your clergy can do
any good with people's souls you've got to take more care of their
bodies. You've got to clean out some of the rotten tenement houses
which some of your big churches own. I've seen them--breeding places
for tuberculosis and drunkenness, and crime of the vilest sort. You've
got to give work to the thousands of starving men and women, who are
driven to crime, instead of spending millions on cathedrals and altars
and statues and stained glass windows, for people who come to church in
their automobiles. A lot of your churches are closed up when the
neighborhood changes and only poor people attend. They sell the
property to a saloonkeeper, or turn it into a moving-picture house and
burn people to death in the rotten old fire-trap. And if you don't
raise your hand, when I come to you fair and square, with an honest
story--if you dare to order me out of here, because you've got to gab a
lot of your charity drivel to a board of directors, instead of taking
the interest any real man would take in something that was real and
vital and eating into the very heart of New York life, I'm going to
show you up, and put you out of the charity business----so help me God!"
Burke's right arm shot into the air, with the vow, and his fist
clenched until the knuckles stood out ridged against the bloodless
pallor of his tense skin.
Trubus looked straight into Burke's eyes, and his own gaze dropped
before the white flame which was burning in them.
Burke turned without a word and walked from the office.
After he had gone Trubus rang the buzzer for his telephone girl.
"Miss Emerson, did that policeman leave his name and station?"
"No, sir; but I know his number. He's mighty fresh."
"Well, I must find out who he is. He is a dangerous man."
Trubus turned toward his mail, and with a slight tremor in his hand
which the shrewd girl noticed began to open the letters.
Check after check fluttered to the surface of the desk, and the great
philanthropist regained his composure by degrees. When he had
collected the postage offertory, carefully indorsed them all, and
assembled the funds sent in for his great work, he slipped them into a
generously roomy wallet, and placed the latter in the pocket of his
frock coat.
He opened a drawer in his desk, and drew forth a tan leather bank book.
Taking his silk hat from the bronze hook by the door, he closed the
desk, after slamming the Bible shut with a sacrilegious impatience,
quite out of keeping with his manner of a half hour earlier.
"I am going to the bank, Miss Emerson. I will return in half an hour
to lead in the prayer at the opening of the directors' meeting. Kindly
inform the gentlemen when they arrive."
He slammed the door as he left the offices.
The telephone operator abstractedly chewed her gum as she watched his
departure.
"I wonder now. I ain't seen his nibs so flustered since I been on this
job," she mused. "That cop must 'ave got his goat. I wonder!"