(_By a well-known Professor of Larceny._)
In these days when robbery with violence is an everyday occurence, few
people will trust themselves alone in railway carriages. Imagine,
therefore, my surprise, not unmingled with pleasure, on seeing a somewhat
pompous-looking individual, with the circumference and watch-chain of the
successful merchant, sitting alone in a first-class carriage on the
suburban up-line from Wallingford. I always travel from Wallingford, as it
is the one station on the line at which you are not required to show a
ticket on entry. Accordingly I entered the old gentleman's carriage, took
his ticket, and offered him a cigarette, which he accepted. I then opened
the conversation.
"I wonder you wear your watch-chain so prominently," I remarked,
"especially during the present vogue of crime--so tempting, you know."
"Ah!" he said, "so you may think; but, being a bit of a criminologist, I
have arranged that as a little trap. It is my belief that the pickpocket,
foiled in one particular, never attempts to rob his victim in any other
way. Now this chain cost me precisely ninepence. It is weighted at each end
with a piece of lead, which gives an appearance of genuineness to the
watch-pocket. I am heavily armed, in case he should attempt violence."
It was here that I removed his pocket-book and slipped it into my
great-coat. Not daring to examine it openly, I fingered it cautiously, and
felt the stiff softness of bank-notes. I was so carried away with pleasure
that I was quite surprised to hear his voice returning from a distance.
"As for my ticket," he continued, "that is a single from Wallingford to the
next station, Sadlington; it is two years old. My season I keep inside the
lining of my hat."
It was here that I returned the ticket to his pocket. After all, I
reflected, I could pay at the other end with a very small portion of the
contents of the pocket-book, which I reckoned must contain at least
half-a-dozen fivers.
"By the way," he added, "I have a passion for biscuits; will you join me in
one?" and he proffered a small tin. "I eat so many of them," he said, "that
I can write all my memoranda on the slips of paper from the tins, and these
I keep in my pocket-book. My money I keep next my season."
It was here that I returned the pocket-book.
* * * * *
"THE OPTIMISTIC WAITERS.
'SOON WE SHALL GO BARK TO OUR WORK TRIUMPHANTLY.'"--_Evening Paper._
We hope that in the case of certain restaurants the bark will not be so bad
as the bite.
* * * * *
[Illustration: _Mabel_ (_who has something in her eye_). "IT'S STILL VERY
SORE, MUMMY. SHALL I GARGLE IT?"]
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