As I have already taken some pains to indicate, I was fully persuaded
of the practical value of a professional connection with a legal
firm of so eminent a standing as that of Messrs. Haight & Foster,
and for this reason the reader may easily appreciate the shock with
which I received the information that my presence was no longer
desired in the office.
Mr. Haight had unexpectedly sent for me word that I was wanted in
the library and I had obeyed his summons without a suspicion that
my career as a civil attorney was to be abruptly terminated. As
I closed the door behind me I saw the old lawyer standing near the
window, his spectacles poked above his eyebrows and his forehead
red with indignation. Between the thumb and forefinger of his left
hand he held a card.
"So," he exclaimed, vainly trying to appear collected, "I find that
my firm has been conducting an uptown office for criminal business!
This is one of your cards, I believe?"
He tossed it from him as if it were infected with some virulent
legal disease, and I saw that it was one of the unfortunate cards
that I had had printed before forming my partnership with Gottlieb.
It was no use denying anything.
"Yes," I answered, as quietly as I could, "it is one of my cards."
"I am also informed," he continued, his voice trembling with
suppressed wrath, "that while you have been masquerading as a
student in this office you have been doing a police-court law
business in association with a person named Gottlieb."
I turned white, yet made no traverse of his indictment. I was
going to be kicked out, but I felt that I could at least make my
exit with a dignified composure.
"Young man, you are no longer wanted here," continued Mr. Haight
with acerbity. "You have found your own level without assistance
and you will no doubt remain there. You obtained your position in
this office by means of false pretences. I do not know who you
really are or whence you really come, but I have no doubt as to
where you will eventually go. This office does not lead in the
right direction. You ought to be locked up! Get out!"
I went.
Glib as I was in the defence of others I found it difficult to
argue in my own behalf. At any rate, it would have availed nothing.
I had been tried, convicted, and sentenced in my absence, and it
was vain to hope for pardon. There is something in righteous
indignation that inevitably carries respect with it. I fully
sympathized with Mr. Haight. I had cheated and outraged his firm
and I knew it. I had no excuse to offer and he was entitled to
his burst of excoriation. Morally I felt sure that the worm that
had worked deepest into his bone was the fact that my guardian,
whose name, as the reader may recall, I had made use of as an
introduction, had not in fact written "Tottenham on Perpetuities"
at all.
Thus I passed out of the office of Haight & Foster much as I had
slipped in--quite unostentatiously. All hope of success along the
slow and difficult lines of legitimate practice faded from my mind.
Whether I willed it or not, as a criminal attorney I was destined
to make my bread.
There was now no reason why Gottlieb and I should any longer conceal
our partnership, and we decided, therefore, to go into things on
a much larger scale than theretofore, and hired a suite of offices
on Centre Street, near the Tombs, where we could be within easy
reach of the majority of our clients. A sign some forty feet long
and three feet wide ran along the entire front of the building,
bearing the names Gottlieb & Quibble. Our own offices were in the
rear, the front rooms being given over to clerks, runners, and
process servers. A huge safe bought for a few dollars at an auction
stood in the entrance chamber, but we used it only as a receptacle
for coal, its real purpose being simply to impress our clients.
We kept but few papers and needed practically no books; what we
had were thrown around indiscriminately, upon chairs, tables--even
on the floor. I do not recall any particular attempt to keep the
place clean, and I am sure that the windows were never washed.
But we made money, and that was what we were out for--and we made
it every day--every hour; and as we made it we divided it up and
put it in our pockets. Our success from the start seemed in some
miraculous way to be assured, for my partner had, even before I
knew him, established a reputation as one of the keenest men at
the criminal bar.
As time went on our offices were thronged with clients of all sexes,
ages, conditions, and nationalities. The pickpocket on his way
out elbowed the gentlewoman who had an erring son and sought our
aid to restore him to grace. The politician and the actress, the
polite burglar and the Wall Street schemer, the aggrieved wife and
stout old clubman who was "being annoyed," each awaited his or her
turn to receive our opinion as to their respective needs. Good or
bad they got it. Usually it had little to do with law. Rather it
was sound, practical advice as to the best thing to be done under
the circumstances. These circumstances, as may be imagined, varied
widely. Whatever they were and however little they justified
apprehension on the part of the client we always made it a point
at the very outset to scare the latter thoroughly. "Conscience
doth make cowards of us all." But a lawyer is a close second to
conscience when it comes to coward-making; in fact, frightening
people, innocent or guilty, became to a very large extent our
regular business.
The sinners most of them live in daily terror of being found out
and the virtuous are equally fearful of being unjustly accused.
Every one knows how a breath of scandal originating out of nothing
can wither a family and drive strong men to desperation. The press
is always ready to print interesting stories about people, without
inquiring too closely into their authenticity. Curiously enough
we found that an invitation to call at our office usually availed
to bring the most exemplary citizens without delay. I can remember
not more than three who had the courage to refuse. Most came, as
it were, on the run. Others made a bluff at righteous indignation.
All, in the end, paid up--and paid well. Our reputation grew, and
in the course of a few years the terror of us stalked abroad through
the city.
Our staff was well organized, however disordered may have been the
physical appearance of our office. In the first place we had an
agent in every police court who instantly informed us whenever any
person was arrested who had sufficient means to make it worth our
while to come to his assistance. This agent was usually the clerk
or some other official who could delay the proceedings in such a
way as to give us time to appear upon the scene. We also had many
of the police in our pay and made it a practice to reward liberally
any officer who succeeded in throwing us any business. In this
way defendants sometimes acquired the erroneous idea that if they
followed the suggestion of the officer arresting them and employed
us as their attorneys, they would be let off through some collusion
between the officer and ourselves. Of course this idea was without
foundation, but it was the source of considerable financial profit
to us, and we did little to counteract the general impression that
had gone abroad that we "stood in" with the minions of the law and
were _personae gratae_ to the judges of the police courts.
After the telephone came into general use Gottlieb employed it in
many ingenious ways. He even had an unconnected set of apparatus
hanging on the wall of the office, through which he used to hold
imaginary conversations with judges and city officers for the
benefit of clients who were in search of "inflooence." It is a
common weakness of the layman to believe that more can be accomplished
through pull than through the merit of one's cause. Even litigants
who have the right on their side are quite as apt to desire an
attorney who is supposed to be "next" to the judge as are those
whose only hope is through judicial favor. Gottlieb's relations
to the lower magistrates were in many instances close, but he
professed to be on the most intimate terms with all who wore the
ermine, whether in the police courts or on the supreme bench. Time
after time I have overheard some such colloquy as the following.
A client would enter the office and after recounting his difficulties
or wrongs would cautiously ask Gottlieb if he knew the judge before
whom the matter would come.
"Do I _know_ him?" my partner would cry. "I lunch with him almost
every day! Wait a minute, and I'll call him up."
Vigorously ringing the bell attached to the unconnected instrument
upon the wall Gottlieb would indulge his fancy in some such dialogue
as:
"Hello--hello! Is this Judge Nemo? Oh, hello, Jack, is it you?
Yes, it's me--Abe. Say, I want to talk over a little matter with
you before I go into court. How about lunch? Sure--any time will
suit me. One o'clock? I'll be there. Thanks. So long, old man.
See you later!"
The client by virtue of this auricular demonstration of our friendly
relations with the bench would be instantly convinced that his
success was assured and that Gottlieb & Quibble were cheap at any
retainer they might choose to name.
For the most part the routine office work fell to me and Gottlieb
attended to the court end of the business. For there was no more
adroit or experienced trial attorney in the courts than my little
hook-nosed partner. Even down-town attorneys with almost national
reputations as corporation lawyers would call him in as associate
counsel in important cases in which a criminal element was involved.
Thus we frequently secured big fees in what Gottlieb was pleased
to call legitimate practice, although I am inclined to believe that
our share was small compared with that of the civil lawyers who
had retained us. On one occasion where Gottlieb had been thus
called in, the regular attorney of record, who happened to be a
prominent churchman, came to our office to discuss the fee that
should be charged. The client was a rich man who had sued successfully
for a divorce.
"How much, Mr. Gottlieb," inquired the attorney, stroking his chin,
"do you think would be a fair amount to ask for our services?"
My partner hesitated for a moment and mentally reviewed the length
of time of the case--a very simple one--had occupied.
"Do you think five thousand dollars would be too much?" he finally
asked with some hesitation.
"Five!" cried the lawyer in astonishment. "It should be twenty
thousand--at the least!"
It is not my intention to give a history of the firm of Gottlieb
& Quibble, but rather a general description of the work of any
criminal law office. Its object is precisely the same as that of
the best offices where civil law is practised--that is, to make
money out of the client. But inasmuch as the client who seeks the
aid of a criminal attorney is usually in dread of losing not merely
money but liberty, reputation, and perhaps life as well, he is
correspondingly ready to pay generously for any real or fancied
service on the part of the lawyers. Thus the fees of a criminal
practitioner--when the client has any money--are ridiculously high,
and he usually gets sooner or later all that the client has.
Indeed, there are three golden rules in the profession, of which
the first has already been hinted at--namely, thoroughly terrify
your client. Second, find out how much money he has and where it
is. Third, get it. The merest duffer can usually succeed in
following out the first two of these precepts, but to accomplish
the third requires often a master's art. The ability actually to
get one's hands on the coin is what differentiates the really great
criminal lawyer from his inconspicuous brethren.
The criminal attorney, therefore, whether he be called to see his
client at the Tombs or in the police station, or is consulted in
his own office, at once informs the latter that he is indeed in a
parlous state. He demonstrates to him conclusively that there
exist but a few steps between him and the gallows, or at least the
State's prison, and that his only hope lies in his procuring at
once sufficient money to--first, get out on bail; second, buy off
the witnesses; third, "fix" the police; fourth, "square" the judge;
and lastly, pay the lawyer. Even where the prisoner has no money
himself, his family are usually ready to do what they can to get
him off, in order to save themselves from the disgrace of being
related to a convict. It is not what may actually happen to your
client, but what he thinks may happen, that makes him ready and
anxious to give up his money. Thus, the more artistic the practitioner
in painting the dire consequences which will result if the family
of the offender does not come to his rescue the quicker and larger
will be the response. Time also is necessary to enable the ancestral
stocking to be grudgingly withdrawn from its hiding-place and its
contents disgorged, or to allow the pathetic representations of
his nearer relatives to work upon the callous heart of old Uncle
John, who once held a city office and has thus plenty of money.
The object of the lawyer being to hang on to the client until he
has got his money, it follows that if the latter is locked up in
jail it is all the better for the lawyer, unless it be expedient
to let him out to raise funds. Thus criminal attorneys are not,
as a rule, particularly anxious to secure the release of a client
from jail. Solitary confinement increases his apprehension and
discomfort and renders him more complacent about paying well for
liberty. The English king who locked up the money-lender and had
one of his teeth drawn out each day until he made the desired loan
knew his business. Once the fellow is out of jail--pfft! He is
gone, and neither the place nor you know him more. Very likely
also he will jump his bail and you will have to make good your
bond. One client in jail is worth two at large.
Lawyers exercise much invention in keeping their clients under
control. I recall one recent case where a French chauffeur who
had but just arrived in this country was arrested for speeding.
The most that could happen to him would, in the natural course of
events, be a fine of fifteen or twenty dollars. But an imaginative
criminal practitioner got hold of him in the police court and drew
such a highly colored picture of what might happen to him that the
Frenchman stayed in jail without bail under an assumed name, raised
some three hundred dollars by means of a draft on Paris, handed it
over to his counsel, and finally after a delay of two weeks was
tried in Special Sessions, found guilty, and let go on a suspended
sentence. He is now looking for the lawyer with a view to doing
something to him that will inevitably result in his own permanent
incarceration.
Another practical distinction between civil and criminal practitioners
is that while the first are concerned for the most part with the
law, the second are chiefly occupied with the facts. In civil
cases the lawyers spend most of their time in trying to demonstrate
that, even assuming their opponents' contentions as to the facts
to be true, the law is nevertheless in their own favor. Now, this
is a comparatively easy thing, since no one knows what the law in
most civil cases is--and it truth it might as well be one way as
the other. A noted member of the supreme bench of the United States
is reported to have said that when he was chief justice of one of
the State courts, and he and his confrères found themselves in a
quandary over the law, they were accustomed to send the sergeant-
at-arms for what they called the "implements of decision"--a brace
of dice and a copper cent. Thus the weightiest matters were decided
without difficulty.
Now, the taking of a purse out of a lady's reticule does not present
much confusion as a legal proposition. It would be somewhat
difficult to persuade a judge or a jury that picking a pocket is
not a crime. It is far easier to demonstrate that the pocket was
not picked at all. This is generally only a question of money.
Witnesses can easily be secured to swear either that the lady had
no reticule, or that if she had a reticule it contained no purse,
or that some person other than the defendant took the purse, or
that she herself dropped it, or that even if the prisoner took it
he had no criminal intent in so doing, since he observed that it
was about to slip from the receptacle in which it was contained
and intended but to return it to her. Lastly, if put to it, that
in fact the owner was _no lady_, and therefore unworthy of credence.
Few persons realize how difficult it is for an outsider, such as
an ordinary juryman, to decide an issue of fact. A flat denial is
worth a hundred ingenious defences in which the act is admitted
but the attempt is made to explain it away. It is this that gives
the jury so much trouble in criminal cases. For example, in the
case of the pickpocket the lawyers and the judge may know that the
complaining witness is a worthy woman, the respectable mother of
a family, and that the defendant is a rascal. But each comes before
the jury presumably of equal innocence. She says he did, he says
he didn't. The case must be proven beyond a reasonable doubt.
Generally the defendant's word, so far as the jury can see, is as
good as his accuser's. If there are other witnesses it is usually
not difficult, and certainly not impossible, to show that they have
poor eyesight, bad memories, or are undesirable citizens in general.
The criminal lawyer learns in his cradle never to admit anything.
By getting constant adjournments he wears out the People's witnesses,
induces others to stay away, and when the case finally comes to
trial has only the naked accusation of the complainant to disprove.
Or, to put it in more technically correct fashion, the complainant
has only his own word wherewith to establish his case beyond a
reasonable doubt. A bold contradiction is often so startling that
it throws confusion into the enemy's camp.
I once defended a worthy gentleman named Cohen on a charge of
perjury, alleged to have been committed by him in a civil case in
which he, as defendant, denied that he had ever ordered a set of
stable plans from a certain architect. The latter was a young man
of very small practice who had an office but no clerks or draughtsmen.
He certainly believed with the utmost honesty that my client had
come to his office, engaged him to design a stable, and approved
an elaborate set of plans that he had drawn. When it came to paying
for them Mr. Cohen declined. The architect brought suit, and at
the trial swore to the dates and places of the interviews between
Cohen and himself, and to all the surrounding circumstances and
details connected with the execution of the plans in question.
His lawyer expected that the defendant would interpose the defense
that the plans were inferior, defective, or worthless. Not at all!
Mr. Cohen swore that he had never ordered the plans and, in fact,
had _never seen the architect in his life!_ He alleged that until
the suit was brought he had never even _heard_ of him, and that
either the architect was demented or a liar, or else some other
Cohen had given the order. The architect and his lawyer were
thunderstruck, but they had no witnesses to corroborate their
contentions, since no one had ever seen Cohen in the other's office.
The jury disagreed and the architect in some way secured Cohen's
indictment for perjury. But during the criminal trial, at which
I defended him, Mr. Cohen calmly persisted in his denial that he
had ever enjoyed the honor of the architect's acquaintance, and
after two prosecutions, in each of which the jury hopelessly
disagreed, the indictments against him were dismissed. From this
it may easily be inferred that no fact is too patent to be denied.
Frequently the more heroic the denial the greater its verisimilitude
to truth. The jury feel that no prisoner would _deny_ a fact that
it would be much easier to _explain away_--and believe him.
I once represented an Italian called the King of Mulberry Street,
who was charged with having deliberately shot in the head and killed
a respectable dealer in olive-oil against whom he held no grudge
whatsoever. The King was just an egotistic little man who liked
notoriety and admiration. He was wont to refer to himself simply
as "The Bravest Man," without reference to time or place--just "The
Bravest Man." He was accustomed to demonstrate his bravery by
shooting inoffensive people whenever the idea seized him. He never
killed anybody save quiet and law-abiding fellow citizens who made
no resistance, and the method he selected was to shoot them through
the head. He seemed to feel that it was essential to his dignity
thus to execute at least one human being every six months, and the
extraordinary feature of his history was that he had never been
convicted.
The case that I was called upon to defend was this: Not having
killed anybody for nearly a year and fearing to jeopardize his dual
title of King of Mulberry Street and The Bravest Man, he put a
forty-four calibre pistol in his pocket, donned his Sunday clothes
and took a walk. The thoroughfare was crowded, the day bright and
fair, the time twelve o'clock noon. Presently the oil merchant
approached and The King, first glancing about him to make sure that
he had a "gallery," went up to him, placed the pistol at his head
and fired. He was immediately arrested and indicted for murder.
Now, twenty witnesses had seen him fire the fatal shot. Yet there
was not the slightest reason in the world why he should have done
such a thing. Upon the trial my client insisted on simply denying
that he had done anything of the kind. I had naturally assumed
that he would either claim that the shooting had been accidental
or that he had fired in self-defense, after he had first been
attacked by the deceased. But no--he had had no pistol, did not
know the man, and had not killed him. Why should he have killed
him? he inquired. No one could answer the question, least of all
the jury. The twenty witnesses were positive that he had done so,
but he was equally positive that he had not. No one could offer
the slightest explanation of the deed--if it had in fact taken
place. The jury puzzled over the case for hours, at one time, I
am informed, being on the point of acquitting the prisoner for lack
of proof of any motive. They reasoned, with perfect logic, that
it was almost if not quite as improbable that the defendant should
in broad daylight on a public street have shot down a man against
whom he had not the slightest grudge as that twenty commonplace
citizens should be mistaken as to what they had seen. Whether they
were aided in reaching a verdict by "the implements of decision"
I do not know, but in the end they found my client guilty and in
due course he paid the penalty, as many another king has done, upon
the scaffold. The plain fact was that The King was a "bravo," who
took a childish and vain pride in killing people. He killed for
the love of killing, or rather for the egotistic satisfaction of
being talked of as a killer. At any rate, there are many like him.
While his defence was unsuccessful, he came near enough to escaping
to point out the value of a bold denial in a criminal case.
Our clients consisted, for the most part, of three clearly defined
classes of persons: Criminals, their victims, and persons involved
in marital or quasi-marital difficulties. These last furnished by
far the most interesting quota of our business, and, did not
professional confidence seal my lips, I could recount numerous
entertaining anecdotes concerning some of what are usually regarded
as New York's most respectable, not to say straight-laced, households.
A family skeleton is the criminal lawyer's strongest ally. Once
you can locate him and drag him forth you have but to rattle his
bones ever so little and the paternal bank account is at your mercy.
New York is prolific of skeletons of this generic character, and
Gottlieb had a magnificent collection. When naught else was doing
we used to stir them up and revive business. Over this feature of
the firm's activities I feel obliged, however, from a natural
feeling of delicacy, to draw a veil. Our function usually consisted
in offering to see to it that a certain proposed action, based on
certain injudicious letters, should be discontinued upon the payment
of a certain specified sum of money. These sums ranged in amount
from five to twenty thousand dollars, of which we retained only
one-half. I understand that some lawyers make more than this
percentage, but for such I have only contempt. A member of a
learned and honorable profession should be scrupulous in his conduct,
and to keep for one's self more than half the money recovered for
a client seems to me to be bordering on the unethical. But perhaps
I am hypersqueamish.
Of course we had a great deal of the ordinary "knock-down-and-drag-
out" variety of assault, robbery, theft, and homicide cases. Most
of these our clerks attended to, but the murder cases Gottlieb
defended in person, and in this he was so singularly successful
that there was hardly a celebrated trial in which he was not retained
in some capacity or other. For he was an adept in all those little
arts that make a jury feel well disposed toward a lawyer, and as
a word artist he was unsurpassed. Gottlieb could, I believe, have
wrung tears from a lump of pig iron, and his own capacity to open
the floodgates of emotion was phenomenal. He had that rare and
priceless gift shared by some members of the theatrical profession
of being able to shed real tears at will. His sobs and groans were
truly heart-rending. This, as might be expected, rendered him
peculiarly telling in his appeals to the jury, and he could frequently
set the entire panel snivelling and wiping their eyes as he pictured
the deserted home, the grief-stricken wife, and the starving children
of the man whom they were asked to convict. These unfortunate
wives and children were an important scenic feature in our defence,
and if the prisoner was unmarried Gottlieb had little difficulty
in supplying the omission due to such improvidence. Some buxom
young woman with a child at the breast and another toddling by her
side could generally be induced to come to court for a few hours
for as many dollars. They were always seated beside the prisoner,
but Gottlieb was scrupulous to avoid any statement that they
_belonged_ to the client. If the jury chose to _infer_ as much
that was not our fault. It was magnificent to hear (from the wings)
Gottlieb sum up a case, his hand, in which was concealed a pin,
caressing the youngest little one.
"Think, gentlemen, of the responsibility that rests upon you in
rendering this woman a widow and depriving this poor innocent babe
of a father's protecting love!"
Here Gottlieb would hiccough out a sob, sprinkle a few tears upon
the counsel table, and gently thrust the pin into the infant's
anatomy. Sob from Gottlieb--opportune wail from the baby. Verdict
--not guilty.
There was a certain class of confidence men for whom we soon became
the regular attorneys. They were a perennial source of delight as
well as profit, and much of my time was given up to the drafting
of circulars and advertisements for the sale of stock in such form
that, whereas they contained no actual misstatement of an existing
fact, they nevertheless were calculated to stimulate in the most
casual reader an irresistible desire to sell all that he had and
invest therein.
Originally the dealers in valueless securities did not take the
trouble to purchase any properties but merely sold their stock and
decamped with the proceeds. Of course such conduct was most ill-
advised and unnecessary. It was obviously criminal to sell stock
in a concern that has no existence, and several of my clients having
been convicted of grand larceny, for this reason I took it upon
myself to advise the others actually to purchase lands, mines, or
other property and issue their stock against it. In this way their
business became absolutely legitimate--as strictly honest and within
the law as any of the stock-jobbing concerns of the financial
district. To be sure, the mine need not be more than the mere
beginning of a shaft, if even that; the oil-well might have ceased
to flow; the timber land might be only an acre or so in extent;
but at any rate they existed. Their value was immaterial, since
the intending purchaser was not informed in the advertisement as
to the amount of gold, silver, or copper mined in any specific
period, the number of gallons of oil per minute that flowed from
the well, or the precise locality of the timber forests, but merely
as to the glorious future in store for all who subscribed for the
stock.
This vital distinction has always existed in civil as well as
criminal law between what is fraud and what is legitimate encouragement
to the buyer. To tell the prospective vendee of your old gray mare
that she is the finest horse in the county is not fraud even if
she is the veriest scarecrow, for it merely represents your opinion
--perhaps colored in part by your desire to sell--and is not a
matter of demonstrable fact. To assure him, however, that she has
never run away, had blind staggers, or spring halt, when these
assertions are not true, is "a false statement as to a past or
existing fact," and as such constitutes a fraud--if he buys your
horse.
Now, it frequently has happened in my experience that gentlemen
desiring to find purchasers for securities or property of little
value have so carelessly mingled statements of fact with opinions,
laudations, and prophecies as to their goods, that juries have said
that they were guilty of fraud in so doing. Thus the lawyer becomes
at every turn indispensable to the business man. The following
circular was drawn up for one of our clients and is an excellent
example of a perfectly harmless and legal advertisement that might
easily become fraudulent. We will suppose that the corporation
owned one-quarter of an acre of wood lot about ten miles from a
region where copper was being mined.
"SAWHIDE COPPERS
"YOUR LAST CHANCE TO BUY THIS STOCK AT PRESENT FIGURES!
"The company's lands are located near the heart of the copper
district, not far from properties now paying from forty to sixty
per cent. a year. There is no reason in the world why Sawhide
should not do as well if not better. With immense quantities of
ore just beneath the surface, when our new smelter is completed
Sawhide will undoubtedly prove one of the best dividend payers in
the country! As the Buggenheims and other well-known financiers
are largely interested in the stock, it is only a question of time
before it will be marked up out of sight. The properties have
great surface value and are rolling in timber and mineral wealth."
This is a fair example of a perfectly safe variety of advertisement
that does not commit the author to anything. As long as there is
a piece of land somewhere and an actual incorporated company the
stock of which, however valueless, is being offered for sale, the
mere fact that the writer indulges himself in rosy prophecies does
not endanger him so far as the criminal law is concerned. It is
only when he foolishly--and usually quite as unconsciously--makes
some definite allegation, such as, for instance, that the company
"owns six hundred acres of fully developed mining property," or
has "a smelter in actual operation on the ground," or "has earned
sixty-five per cent. on its capital in the past year," that the
financier runs the slightest risk. It may be that a purchaser
would find it so difficult to prove the falsity of any of the
statements upon which he had relied in purchasing the stock that
the vendor would practically be immune, but in these days of muck-
raking and of an hysterical public conscience prosecutors sometimes
go to the most absurd lengths and spend ridiculous sums of money
out of the county treasuries to send promoters to jail.
They are apt to have a hard time of it, however. I recall one
scheme in which a client of mine was interested, involving the
floatation of about a hundred thousand dollars' worth of railroad
stock. The circulars, printed by a famous engraver and stationer,
were twenty pages in length and contained the minutest description
of the company's board of directors, rolling stock, capitalization,
bond issues, interests in other railroads, government grants of
land, and the like. They were embellished with beautiful photographs
of deep cuts, suspension-bridges, snow-sheds, railroad-yards, and
round-houses. The promoter did a mail-order business and sold the
stock by the bagful to elevator men, trained nurses, policemen,
porters, clerks, and servant girls.
After he had salted away about forty thousand dollars some of the
purchasers began to get anxious about their dividends. None were
forthcoming, and as the promoter was inclined to be indefinite as
to future prospects he was presently arrested. But when the case
came to trial I pointed out a fact that, strange as it may seem,
practically no one of the multitude of stockholders had previously
noticed, namely, that the circulars made no actual statement _as
to where the railroad was located_. By inference it might well
have been supposed to be somewhere in Canada, but there was no such
fact clearly alleged. Of course it was impossible for the prosecutor
to prove that my client did not own a railroad _somewhere_ in the
world and the indictment had to be dismissed. Negations are
extremely hard to establish, and therein lies the promoter's safety.
If he sticks to generalizations, no matter how they glitter, he is
immune. Had my railroad promoter inserted a single word descriptive
of the location of his franchise or his terminals he would now be
in Sing Sing instead of owning a steam yacht and spending his
winters in Florida.
From the foregoing the reader will observe that the first-class
criminal lawyer by no means devotes his time to defending mere
burglars and "strong-arm" men. The élite of the profession do as
gilt-edged an office practice as the most dignified corporation
attorneys. Indeed, in many respects their work is strictly
identical.