JOSIE’S LITTLE BLACK BOOK
“Now I’ve talked too much!” Josie took herself to task after retiring
to her room. “Mrs. Leslie has some kind of suspicion concerning me and
it is all my own fault. I wonder what my father would have done under
the circumstances.”
She took from her top drawer a little leather book; her most valued
possession and without which she never traveled. It was a chunky little
book, evidently home made. The pages were covered with neatly written
lines which, to the uninitiated, looked like so much Greek script. It
was in reality a cryptic shorthand invented by Detective O’Gorman and
known only to him and his daughter and one other--a certain criminal,
Felix Markham. How he came to know this family code is another story
altogether. At any rate, in the United States Josie was the only person
who could make heads or tails of this writing, as her dear father had
gone to that far country where detectives find no work to do, and
Markham had fled to China after having executed a daring escape from
the penitentiary.
In this little book the detective had inscribed many homely sayings,
some original but most of them borrowed from Poor Richard’s Almanac,
the Proverbs of Solomon and other like sources. Josie often amused
her friends by quoting these bits of wisdom as though her dear father
had been responsible for all of them. Also in this book was written
much that was interesting and valuable concerning criminals with
whom O’Gorman had come in contact; descriptions of their appearance,
habits and peculiarities, as well as the lists of their aliases and
professions engaged in as blinds.
All of this was interesting reading and Josie never tired of conning
over the difficult script. Reading between the lines she caught hints
of successes which the noted criminologist was too modest even to put
in his diary, although it was written in a shorthand known only to
himself and his daughter and was meant for no other eyes.
On this night it was not her father’s successes that interested Josie,
but his failures. The last twenty pages of the little book were filled
with his failures and analyses of why he had failed, also admonitions
to his daughter as to what she should avoid in the way of pitfalls for
a detective.
“When you find you have aroused suspicion in the mind of someone as to
your real business which it is perhaps expedient to conceal, do not
be too quick to allay those suspicions as the person concerned will
no doubt be on the lookout to trap you. If, in the course of time,
you quietly do or say again the same thing that first aroused the
suspicion in the mind of the person and then, being on your guard, make
some casual explanation, it will be more convincing than changing too
quickly and appearing for that reason rather unnatural. For instance,
if, the better to catch a criminal, you have been taking the part of
a lowly person, say a dishwasher in a restaurant, and inadvertently
you show yourself to be educated--do not immediately revert to slang
and double negatives to throw the person to whom you have revealed
your culture off the scent, but rather show other bits of learning and
then have a plausible story ready to account for a dishwasher knowing
something beyond hot suds and drainers and tea towels.”
“There I am!” exclaimed Josie. “I am not sure just what it was that
started Mrs. Leslie but I think it was the free and easy gabble about
Paris bridges and luxurious lairs. Now I must bring up the subject
again and talk some more about the same thing and then give her some
kind of song and dance that will sound plausible enough to throw her
off the scent. Then I’ll jump back to the subject of bone buttons and
linen tape and maybe haul in something about a handsome floor walker at
Burnett & Burnett’s.”
Satisfied with the plan, Josie devoutly closed her little book and went
peacefully to sleep, wickedly hoping that somebody would do a little
shoplifting the next day to keep her from dying of ennui.
Breakfast was hurried and she had little time to talk to Mrs. Leslie.
One could not be very tactful nor use much finesse with a mouth full
of hot oatmeal porridge. To talk about the crime wave in Paris so
early in the morning would be ridiculous. It must keep until evening.
Perhaps she was mistaken about Mrs. Leslie having any suspicion of her.
Mary was as gentle and lovely as ever and her mother was certainly
most considerate and cordial in her insistence that Josie should have
another cup of coffee. After all, she had nothing to conceal--that is,
nothing that would be to her discredit. It was only that she deemed it
wiser to keep to herself her real business in Wakely. Of course if Mrs.
Leslie became too suspicious it would be a simple matter to tell her
the whole truth.
That morning the girls started to town a little earlier than was their
custom. It was Saturday and a half holiday. Mary had some extra typing
on hand she was anxious to finish and Josie wanted to interview Mr.
Theodore Burnett before the store opened. As they stepped into the
public hall of the apartment house they ran into the same beggar of
whom Mary had spoken the evening before. The hall was unlighted except
for a pale streak of sun that tried to find its way through the dingy
glass of the street door but Josie did not need much light to recognize
the man as the beggar who sat at the main door of Burnett & Burnett’s.
The man began a pleading beggar’s whine and held out his hand to the
girls. Unfortunately for him Mrs. Leslie opened her door at that moment
to call a last good bye to her daughter and to remind her of some
promised errand. The sight of the beggar angered her and she spoke
sharply to him:
“Begone sir!” she cried. “It is against all rules of the house to have
beggars in the hall.”
“Excuse! Excuse!” and the man bowed humbly, shuffling off with bent
back and palsied head. As he passed the irate lady, Josie caught the
flash of resentment that glowed in his one eye.
“Oh, Mother, the poor fellow!” said Mary. “I feel so sorry for him and
you hurt his feelings terribly.”
“He’d no business in the hall. Perhaps I was a bit hasty. Here, run
after him, Mary, and give him this penny. But tell him he mustn’t come
back here.”
Mary added a small sum to her mother’s penny and hastening after the
man pressed it in his hand. Josie, who was close behind, again caught
an expression on the man’s face--a leer of admiration for the pretty
young girl with her fresh rosy face and kind blue eyes.
A view of him in broad daylight convinced Josie that he really was the
beggar who had the desirable stand at the front entrance to Burnett &
Burnett’s and also the realization came to her that she had seen the
man before and that it was not as a mendicant.
For the second time since Josie came to Wakely she puzzled her brains
over where before she had seen or known a man, this time an old
one. She was still in doubt as to the identity of the young man who
evidently lived in the apartment next to the Leslies, and now a palsied
old beggar was adding to her perplexity.
“I’ll keep an eye on him during the morning and perhaps I’ll remember,”
she promised herself.
It was a busy morning but between sales Josie managed to get an
occasional glimpse of the one-eyed beggar at the gate. He, too, was
doing a thriving business. Josie wondered if the woman at the rear
entrance was playing in such good luck as her rival in the front.
Once during the morning she had occasion to pass by the back door and
could look out at the female newsie. Straggling iron gray hair was
blown by the wintry breezes across a round, plump face which Nature
had doubtless intended to be wreathed in perpetual smiles and which
seemed with difficulty to assume an expression of misery and woe. Her
comfortable, well rounded body was arrayed in pitiful rags. Josie
determined to study her more closely and accordingly when the store
closed she made her exit by the rear door.
“Pa-a-perrr! Pa-a-perr!” quavered the woman in a tone that spoke of
utter misery and dejection.
A genial gentleman stopped to buy one.
“Is it the last edition?” he asked.
“Ye-e-ss sirr!” she whined, “the very latest.”
He handed her a quarter of a dollar.
“I haven’t an-y ch-aa-nge, sirr.”
“No change? Well then keep it!” he exclaimed with a note of irritation
in his voice.
Saturday was a short day for the employees of Burnett & Burnett’s
and Josie determined to use the afternoon in looking up some more
residences of her fellow workers. The day was pleasant, with a hint of
premature spring in the air; an excellent day for checking up on some
of the suburban addresses.
“I wonder if Major Simpson will follow me. Anyhow, I have chosen a
balmy afternoon for his jaunt if he decides to take it,” she laughed.
“I have a great mind to give him the slip.”
By the simple expedient of going up one elevator and down another Josie
eluded the old detective, who was evidently on the lookout for her. She
then quickly made her way to the rear exit and was out on the street
before the old gentleman realized that the young person in whom he was
taking such an unaccountable interest had flown the coop.
“Ding bust it!” he remarked eloquently, “I’ll come up with her yet.”
Miss Fauntleroy was immediately in front of Josie, moving with her
accustomed slow grace. The girl was well proportioned and Josie had not
realized before how very tall she was. Being of rather a diminutive
statute herself, she seemed almost a dwarf by the side of the stately
young woman.
“Pa-a-perr, pa-a-perr,” quavered the old woman in an irritating whine.
Miss Fauntleroy stopped and holding out a dime asked for a newspaper.
Her voice was singularly hard and cold but the old beggar seemed rather
amused as she answered:
“Yes, my prr-r-ty! Here’s your Jou-r-rnal.”
“Give me my change,” demanded the girl haughtily.
“Change? Sur-r-ely you know an old woman like me can’t make change.”
“Well you’ll make it for me or give me back my dime,” said the girl
angrily, her voice breaking hoarsely. She snatched the money from the
old woman’s hand and rudely twisting and rumpling the paper so that it
would be difficult to sell to another customer, she threw it into the
basket at the beggar’s feet and then walked proudly away.
While Josie held no brief for beggars of any sort, neither those who
begged outright nor those who begged under the guise of selling back
number papers or pencils made of scrap lead, still her heart was kind
and it tried her sorely to witness the rudeness and direct unkindness
of the inconsiderate Miss Fauntleroy.
“Here! I’ll take that rumpled paper,” she said gently, handing the
correct change to the old woman. “I can smooth it out and read it on
the trolley.” She stooped swiftly and picked up the twisted Wakely
Journal.
“No, no, lady! I’ll give you a nice clean pa-perr,” insisted the
newsie, reaching eagerly for the one that Miss Fauntleroy had thrown
so disdainfully in her basket. But Josie clutched it tightly and was
soon lost in the crowd, while the old woman sat dazed and disconsolate,
forgetting to cry her wares as the employees trooped forth from Burnett
& Burnett’s.