THE TRAITOR.
Miggsy’s eyes opened wide with astonishment as he listened to what the
younger Gale had to say. From the expression which came to the boy’s
face it was evident that the proposition was exceedingly distasteful to
him.
“But I couldn’t do that, gents,” he protested. “Really, I couldn’t.
Can’t yer make it something else?”
The elder Gale shook his head deprecatingly. “It is just as I feared,”
he muttered. “The young man is lacking in nerve. I am afraid, my son,
that he isn’t quite qualified to cover police for the _Chronicle_.”
“It ain’t a question of nerve, boss,” protested Miggsy plaintively. “I
ain’t afraid to do it. I ain’t afraid of anything. But it wouldn’t be
honest. It would be stealing--this thing that you want me to do.”
The younger Gale frowned. “Nonsense!” he said sharply. “You mustn’t talk
like that, Mr. Miggles. Do you think for a minute that my father or I
would ask you to steal? You ought to be ashamed of yourself for
suggesting such a thing.”
The boy looked puzzled. “Well, you want me to swipe them pictures from
the _Bulletin’s_ photo-engraving room, and bring them to you, don’t
you?” he asked. “Ain’t that stealin’?”
“Certainly not,” replied the younger Gale indignantly; “not when it’s
done for a newspaper. Circumstances alter cases, you know, Mr. Miggles.
In newspaper work lots of things are justified which might be looked
upon as wrong in ordinary life.”
“Very true,” chimed in the proprietor of the _Chronicle_. “A newspaper
reporter on an assignment is just like a soldier in time of war, young
man. He must recognize no law save the law of doing his duty--of
carrying out the orders of his superior officers. It wouldn’t do, you
know, for our troops to refuse to shoot at the enemy on the grounds that
it is wrong to shed human blood. Yet a soldier would have just as much
reason to argue that killing is murder, as you have to argue
that--ahem--obtaining those pictures for the _Chronicle_ would be
larceny. As my son has very properly remarked, circumstances alter
cases.”
Miggsy was somewhat dazzled by this sophistry. “I suppose there’s
somethin’ in that,” he muttered hesitatingly.
“You can bet there’s a whole lot in it,” declared the younger Gale. “My
father has put the case very well, I think. If you had ever worked on a
big New York newspaper, Mr. Miggles, you wouldn’t hesitate for a minute
about covering this assignment. In New York reporters are called upon to
do little things of this sort quite frequently. It is looked upon as
perfectly proper.”
This argument had great weight with Miggsy. He knew that this nattily
dressed young man had been a reporter on a New York newspaper, and
therefore might well be considered an authority on Park Row journalistic
ethics. And if it was perfectly proper to steal for a newspaper in New
York, thought the boy, then, likewise, it must be perfectly proper to
commit larceny for a newspaper in Oldham. His opposition began to
waver.
“But let us have no further discussion about the matter, my son,” cried
the elder Gale impatiently. “If this young man does not care to
undertake this assignment, we certainly have no wish to persuade him to
do so. Of course, we do not really need those pictures. I merely
suggested the assignment as a means of testing his courage and
ingenuity. We will let the matter drop. No doubt I shall easily be able
to find somebody else to cover police for the _Chronicle_. At fifteen
dollars a week we ought to have no difficulty in getting a man for the
job.”
This reminder of what he was about to lose proved too much for Miggsy.
The mention of that munificent salary quenched the last flicker of his
conscience.
“You don’t have to get nobody else, Mr. Gale,” he said hastily. “I’m
going to cover police for you. I’m going back to the _Bulletin_ office
now, to get them pictures.”
At this the elder Gale smiled at him approvingly, while the younger Gale
slapped him heartily on the back.
“That’s the way to talk, old chap!” the latter exclaimed. “I see you’ve
got the right stuff in you, after all. You’re going to make a great
reporter. Bring those negatives here just as soon as you can, and if any
prints have been made, don’t fail to grab all of them. Don’t forget, Mr.
Miggles, that not a single copy must be left behind.”
“I understand,” said the boy. “You want me to make sure that them
pictures ain’t published in the _Bulletin_ to-morrow morning. I get
you.”
Miggsy had been sent out by one of the _Bulletin’s_ reporters to
purchase a paper of tobacco; and while he had been gone considerably
longer than this errand required, the delay was not commented upon when
he returned. Of course, nobody in the _Bulletin_ office dreamed of
suspecting that the youngster had been in the camp of the enemy.
Consequently it was not a difficult matter for Miggsy to obtain
possession of those precious negatives. The ruse which he employed in
order to obtain them has already been described. Having ascertained that
no prints had as yet been made, he slipped the films into his pocket,
and hurried down the stairs which led from the _Bulletin’s_
photo-engraving room to the street.
But on his way down, as he passed the closed door of the editorial room,
he experienced a sudden qualm. The sight of that familiar door brought
to him a realization of the enormity of his act.
“It seems like a rotten trick to double cross the old pape,” he mused.
“Mr. Carroll has always treated me pretty white. That time when I was
laid up with a broken ankle he sent me wages around to the house every
week, and kept me job open for me until I was well again.”
The thought caused him to hesitate on the stairway, but the hesitation
was only momentary. There came to his mind, just then, the recollection
of that time when he had asked the proprietor of the _Bulletin_ to give
him a chance as a reporter, and Carroll had laughed uproariously at the
suggestion.
That recollection was sufficient to harden his heart. “The _Chronicle_
is willing to make me a reporter, at fifteen dollars a week,” he mused.
“Wouldn’t I be a chump to pass up this grand opportunity? I guess
Carroll will be darned sorry he laughed when he sees me coverin’ police
for the rival pape.”
Ten minutes later he was once more in the private office of the
proprietor of the _Chronicle_.
The Gales, father and son, received him with great cordiality. “Did you
get them, young man?” the elder Gale inquired eagerly.
“Yes, sir,” replied Miggsy, throwing the films upon the desk. “Here they
are, sir.”
“But how about the prints, Mr. Miggles?” the younger Gale demanded
anxiously. “You don’t mean to say that you left them behind?”
“There wasn’t any prints,” the boy explained. “Neilson, our
photo-engraver--I mean their photo-engraver--hadn’t made any. These
negatives were all they had.”
“You are quite sure of that?” the younger Gale demanded searchingly.
“Yes, sir; I am quite sure. I was very careful to see that no copies
were left behind.”
The two Gales exchanged glances of congratulation. “I guess our friend
Carroll will have to get a new front page for to-morrow’s issue,” the
proprietor of the _Chronicle_ chuckled. “It gives me great joy, my son,
to deprive our esteemed contemporary of its star feature.”
His son grinned. “Yes; my only regret is that we cannot publish the
pictures ourselves,” he said. “Of course, our friendship for the police
department makes that quite impossible. It is too bad. It would be such
a rattling good joke on that confounded Camera Chap if we could use his
snapshots on the front page of to-morrow’s _Chronicle_.”
The elder Gale smiled deprecatingly. “As you have said, my son, that is
quite out of the question. As we run the administration organ, the
pictures are useless to us for publication. But I have no doubt we shall
be able to find other uses for them.”
Then the proprietor of the _Chronicle_ dipped his hands into his
trousers pocket, and produced a silver coin, which he extended toward
Miggsy.
“You have done well, my boy,” he said; “very well, indeed. Here is a
half dollar for you.”
Miggsy thought it was somewhat beneath the dignity of a reporter to
receive a fifty-cent tip like a common office boy, but, not wishing to
hurt the old gentleman’s feelings, he decided not to debate the point.
“Thank you, sir,” he said, pocketing the coin. “When shall I start in to
cover police?”
As Mr. Gale appeared not to have heard the question, Miggsy took the
liberty of repeating it. “When do I start in on the job?” he inquired.
“Shall I go over to police headquarters now, sir? I’m ready.”
To his great astonishment the proprietor of the _Chronicle_ stared at
him coldly. “Ready for what, young man?” he inquired.
“To cover police, sir.”
A laugh from the younger Gale--a cruel, jeering laugh--brought a sudden
chill to the boy’s heart.
“You cover police! Why, you’re only a kid!”
“A mere child,” chimed in the elder Gale, stroking his mutton-chop
whiskers. “Come around again five or six years from now, and we may be
able to find room for you on the reportorial staff of the _Chronicle_,
my boy, but not before then.”
“But you said that if I made good with them pictures I was to have the
job, at fifteen dollars a week,” cried Miggsy, a choke in his voice.
The proprietor of the _Chronicle_ turned inquiringly to his son. “Did I
say that?” he asked. “Do you recall my saying anything to give this boy
such a mistaken impression?”
“Certainly not,” was the reply. “I am afraid the boy is subject to
hallucinations.”
“You certainly did say it!” cried Miggsy hotly. “And I’ve made good!
I’ve brought you them pictures. What more do you want?”
Tears came to the boy’s eyes. “I’ve queered myself with the _Bulletin_,”
he sobbed. “I can’t go back there now. I’ll be out of work, and me
mudder needs every cent I make. Please, please, Mr. Gale, if you won’t
let me cover police, find somethin’ else for me to do in the _Chronicle_
office.”
The proprietor of the _Chronicle_ shook his head. “I regret to say there
are no vacancies,” he said coldly. “We couldn’t find room for you here
even as an office boy. Besides, I am afraid you are not quite honest,
young man. The fact that you have pilfered those pictures has made a bad
impression upon me. It is my belief that a man or a boy who would steal
for me would also steal from me.”
He turned to the younger Gale. “My son, I will trouble you to put this
noisy boy outside,” he said.