MIKE HOGAN.
In the summer season not a few of the desperate characters who, at other
times, lurk in the lanes and alleys in our cities, start out on vagabond
tramps through the country districts.
Mike Hogan was a fit representative of this class. He was a low-browed
ruffian, with unkempt hair and a beard of a week’s growth, with a look
in his eyes that inspired distrust.
He was physically strong, and abundantly able to work, but preferred to
dispense with labor, and live on the credulity or the fears of his
fellow men.
Mike had served a term at Sing Sing, but punishment in no way altered
his way of life. If anything, it confirmed him in his opposition to the
law and his worthless habits.
He had been on the tramp now for two weeks, and accident had brought him
to the neighborhood of Hamilton a couple of days before.
Mike had already made two calls, though he had only been an hour in the
village. The first was to the house of Mr. Ross, the lawyer.
The master of the house was not at home, but Herbert was in the front
yard. In fact, he was sitting on the doorstep, whittling.
Mike’s experience taught him that children are generally less
suspicious, and more easily moved to compassion, than their elders.
He therefore addressed himself with some confidence to Herbert, of whose
disposition he knew nothing, or he would not have expected any help from
him or through his influence.
“Young gentleman,” he said, in a whining voice, as he rested his elbows
on the top of the front gate, “I am a poor man----”
Herbert looked up, and surveyed the uncouth visitor with profound
disdain. He always despised the poor, and made little discrimination
between the deserving and the undeserving.
“You don’t look very rich,” he said, after a pause.
His tone was not particularly compassionate, but Mike did not detect the
nature of his feelings.
“Indeed, young sir,” he continued, in the same whining tone, “I have
been very unfortunate.”
“You have seen better days, I suppose,” said Herbert, who had not the
slightest idea of giving Hogan anything, but meant to play with him as
a cat does with a mouse before sending him away.
“Yes, I have,” said Hogan. “Once I was prosperous, but ill health and
misfortune came, and swept away all my money, and now I have to travel
around and ask a few pennies of kind strangers.”
“Why don’t you go to work? You look strong enough,” said Herbert.
And in this he was perfectly right.
“Why don’t I work? I ain’t able,” answered the tramp.
“You look strong enough.”
“You shouldn’t judge by looks, young gentleman. I have fever ’n’ ager
awful, and the rheumatism is in all my joints. You look rich and
generous. Can’t you spare a few pennies for a poor man?”
“You mustn’t judge by looks,” said Herbert, laughing at his own
repartee. “My father’s rich, but he don’t give anything to tramps.”
Now the professional tramp, although quite aware of his own character,
objects to being called a tramp. He does not care to see himself as
others see him.
Mike Hogan answered shortly, and without his customary whine:
“I am not a tramp. I’m an honest, poor man.”
“Honest!” repeated Herbert. “I shouldn’t wonder if you had just come out
of State’s prison.”
This remark Mike Hogan considered altogether too personal. The fact that
it was true made it still more offensive. His tone completely changed
now, and, instead of a whine, it became a growl, as he retorted:
“You’d better keep your tongue between your teeth, young
whipper-snapper! You can’t insult me because I am a poor man.”
“You’d better look out,” said Herbert, angrily. “My father’s a lawyer,
and a justice of the peace, and he’ll have you put in the lockup.”
“Come out here, and I’ll wring your neck, you young villain!” said Mike
Hogan, whose evil temper was now fully aroused.
“I wish father was here,” said Herbert, indignantly.
“I’d lick you both, and make nothing of it!” exclaimed the tramp.
“I thought you were not strong enough to work,” sneered Herbert.
“I am strong enough to give you a beating,” growled Hogan.
“Go away from here! You have no business to lean on our gate!”
“I shall lean on it as long as I please!” said the tramp, defiantly.
“Are you coming out here?”
If Mike Hogan had been a small boy, Herbert would not have been slow in
accepting this invitation, but there was something in the sinister look
and the strong, vigorous frame of Mike Hogan which taught him a lesson
of prudence.
Herbert had never before wished so earnestly that he were strong and
muscular. It would have done him good to seize the intruder, and make
him bellow for mercy, but his wish was fruitless, and Mike remained
master of the situation.
At this moment, however, he was re-enforced by his dog, Prince, who came
round from behind the house.
“Bite him, Prince!” exclaimed Herbert, triumphantly.
Prince needed no second invitation. Like the majority of dogs of
respectable connections, he had a deep distrust and hatred of any person
looking like a beggar or a tramp, and he sprang for the rough-looking
visitor, barking furiously.
If Herbert expected the tramp to take flight it was because he did not
know the courage and ferocity of Mike Hogan. Some dogs, doubtless, would
have made him quail, but Prince was a small-sized dog, weighing not
over fifty pounds, and, as the animal rushed to attack him, Mike gave a
derisive laugh.
“Why don’t you send a rat or a kitten?” he exclaimed, scornfully.
Prince was so accustomed to inspire fear that he did not stop to take
the measure of his human adversary, but sprang over the fence and made
for the tramp, intending to fasten his teeth in the leg of the latter.
But Mike Hogan was on the alert. He bent over, and, as the dog
approached, dexterously seized him, threw him over on his back, and then
commenced powerfully compressing his throat and choking him.
Poor Prince seemed utterly powerless in his vigorous grasp. His tongue
protruded from his mouth, his eyes seemed starting from their sockets,
and death by strangulation seemed imminent.
Herbert Ross surveyed this unexpected sight with mingled surprise and
dismay.
“Let him go! Don’t kill him!” he screamed.
“What made you set him on me?” demanded the tramp, savagely.
“Let him go, and he shan’t bite you!” said Herbert.
“I will take care of that myself,” said Hogan. “When I get through with
him, you’ll have to bury him.”
“Let him go, and I’ll give you a quarter,” said Herbert, in the
extremity of his alarm.
“That sounds better,” said Mike Hogan, moderating his grip. “Where’s the
quarter?”
Herbert hurried to the fence and handed over the coin.
Mike took it, and, with a laugh, tossed the almost senseless dog into
the yard, where he lay gasping for breath.
“If you’ve got any more dogs, bring ’em on,” he said, with a laugh.
“Next time, you’ll know how to treat a gentleman.”
Herbert had a retort on the end of his tongue, but did not dare to utter
it. He had been too much impressed and terrified by the tramp’s
extraordinary display of strength to venture to provoke him further.
“Well,” thought Hogan, chuckling, “I made the boy come down with
something, after all. I paid him well for his impudence.”
Continuing on his way he stopped at a house where he was offered some
cold meat, but no money. Being hungry, he accepted, and again continued
his march.
In passing Mrs. Gordon’s house his attention was attracted by the sound
of voices. Thinking it possible that he might hear something which he
could turn to advantage, he placed himself in a position where he could
overhear what was said.
His eyes sparkled when he heard Miss Sally speak of the large sum of
money she had in the house.
“Ho, ho!” said he, to himself, “I’m in luck. You won’t need to carry
that money to the bank, my lady. I’ll take care of it for you. As for
this boy who is to guard it, I’ll scare him out of his wits!”
When Sally Peabody left the cottage of Mrs. Gordon she was not aware
that her steps were tracked by one of the most reckless and desperate
criminals in the State.
He followed her far enough to learn where she lived and then concealed
himself in the woods until the time should come for active operations.