As I jot down these random reminiscences I am impressed in a singular
fashion with the fact that my career consisted entirely in the
making, or rather getting, of money and the spending of it. I had
no particular professional ambitions and never but once sought
distinction as a constitutional lawyer; and, however unworthy of
an officer of the court such a confession may be, I am quite ready
to admit that a seat upon the bench would have afforded me neither
amusement nor sufficient compensation to satisfy my desires. Let
other men find their gratification and emolument in the supposed
honor of wearing the ermine! I have never found that a judge became
any the less an erring human being after his elevation to the dais,
and I could rake out of one good semi-criminal case twice the salary
of any judge on the supreme bench. What is popularly regarded as
respectability is oft-times in reality--if the truth were known--
merely stodginess and stupidity.
I am compelled to admit that in my early days, before I had formed
my affiliation with Gottlieb, I had different ambitions, although
they were none the less worldly. Then I wanted to be a judge
because I supposed a judge was the king-pin of the profession.
Now, as Pat Flanagan says, "I know different." The judge is apt
to be no less a tool of the boss than any other public officer
elected by the suffrages of a political party. He is merely less
obviously so. There are a few men in Wall Street who can press a
button and call for almost any judge they want--and he will come--
and adjourn court if necessary to do so--with his silk hat in his
hands. And if any young aspirant for legal honors who reads these
fugitive memoirs believes that the road to the supreme bench leads
_via_ Blackstone, and is lighted by the midnight oil of study, let
him disabuse himself of that idea, but seek rather the district
leader; and let him make himself useful in getting the boys that
are in trouble out of it. Under our elective system there is no
more honor in being a judge than in being a sheriff or a hog-reeve;
but, when one is young--and perhaps starving--it may seem otherwise.
If any of my lay readers believe that the practice of the law is
a path of dalliance, let him but hazard his fortunes for a brief
space on the good ship Jurisprudence--he will find the voyage
tedious beyond endurance, the ship's company but indifferent in
character and the rations scanty. I make no doubt but that it is
harder to earn an honest living at the law than by any other means
of livelihood. Once one discovers this he must perforce choose
whether he will remain a galley slave for life or hoist the Jolly
Roger and turn freebooter, with a chance of dangling betimes from
his own yard-arm.
Many a man has literally starved at the law. And most of the
profession nearly do so; while some, by merest luck, have managed
to struggle on until they stumbled upon some professional gold
mine. I have heard many stories of how some young men managed to
pull success out of disaster when the odds seemed overwhelming.
One which has particularly appealed to me I shall call the anecdote
of The Most Capable Young Lawyer in New York.
Some years ago there came to the great city a young fellow who had
always lived in a country town where the neighbors were all such
good friends that they never went to law. He was able and industrious,
but in his native place found it almost impossible to earn a living;
and when by chance he met a well-known and prosperous attorney from
New York who advised him to seek his fortune in the whirlpool rather
than in the back eddies of life, he decided to follow the
suggestion.
"I will endeavor to throw you something from time to time," said
the prosperous lawyer, for it made him feel his own success to see
such a poor young man and it tickled his vitals into benignity.
The country boy sold all his possessions for a few hundred dollars
and came to New York. His friend was very kind in his manner and
prolific of advice, but, unfortunately, he had no room in his own
office for a junior or even an errand-boy. So Peters, for that
was the young man's name, dragged himself up and down the city
trying to find an opening, no matter how small. He was too old to
begin as a clerk and too much of a bumpkin for anything else, and
he found that nobody had any use for a young man of his particular
type and training. At last, in despair, he hired desk-room in an
office, shared jointly by half a dozen young men like himself, and
waited for something to turn up; but nothing came. His bank account
fell lower and lower, and he became more and more shabby. Moreover,
he was eating his heart out with disappointment, for he could not
return to his native town and confess himself a failure.
From time to time he would drop into his prosperous friend's offices,
but the latter never had anything to turn over to him and he would
return dejectedly to his own solitary desk. At last he was forced
to give up lunch and get along as best he could on two scanty meals
a day; he grew thin and haggard, his Adam's apple projected redly
above a frayed collar, his trousers grew wrinkled and shiny, and
he looked ready to take his place in the "bread line." Finally he
spent his last cent on a pretzel and made ready to "turn in his
checks."
At this point Peters paid a last visit to his friend, who was
visibly shocked at his emaciated appearance, for his eyes burned
with the fever of starvation and his jaw was set in a pitiful
determination to keep going until he dropped.
"Mr. Banks," said he grimly, "unless you give me something to do
I'll go under. The fact is, I'm starving!"
Mr. Banks look at him critically.
"Pretty near ready to give up, eh?" he remarked. "Better chuck it
and go back! I guess I was wrong when I told you to come down
here."
"Not yet," answered Peters doggedly. "When I go back it'll be in
a wooden box."
"Well," replied Mr. Banks, "I'm sorry; but there isn't a thing in
the office I can give you." He pondered a minute. "I've got a
lot of old judgments against a fellow named Rosenheim--in the cigar
business, but he's no good--judgment proof--and they aren't worth
the paper they're written on."
"Give them to me!" almost shouted Peters.
Mr. Banks laughed.
"You can have ninety per cent. of all you collect," said he as he
bent over and, pulling out a lower drawer, removed a bundle of
soiled documents. "Here they are. My blessing to you!"
Peters grabbed the transcripts and staggered down the stairs. It
took him less than ten minutes to find Mr. Simon Rosenheim, who
was sitting inside a brass fence at a mahogany desk, smoking one
of the best of his own cigars.
"Mr. Rosenheim," said Peters, "I have some judgments here against
you, amounting to about three thousand dollars."
"Yes?" remarked Rosenheim politely.
"Can you let me have the money?" inquired Peters.
"My dear fellow," retorted Rosenheim, with an oily sneer, "I owe
the money all right, but I don't own a thing in the world. Everything
in this room belongs to my wife. The amount of money I owe is
really something shocking. Even what is in the safe"--he nodded
to a large affair on the other side of the room--"belongs to somebody
else."
Rosenheim had been through this same performance hundreds of times
before, but not with the same dénouement.
Suddenly he saw a lean young man, with hollow cheeks and blazing
eyes, leap over the brass railing. In another instant horny hands
grasped him firmly by the windpipe and a voice hissed in his ear:
"Pay me those judgments or I'll strangle you here and now!"
With bursting veins and protruding tongue he struggled helplessly
to escape as his assailant dragged him toward the safe.
"I mean what I say!" half shrieked Peters. "I'm starving! I'd as
lief die one way as another; but before I die you'll pay up those
judgments--every cent!"
Rosenheim was on his knees now before the safe, his eyes starting
from his head.
"Open the safe!" commanded Peters.
Rosenheim, the sweat of death on his brow, fumbled with the
combination; the tumbler caught, the door swung open. Peters lifted
his captive enough to permit him to reach in and take out the bills.
"Count 'em out!" he ordered.
Rosenheim did as he was told, shaking with fear. Peters stuffed
the money into his pocket.
"Now do your damdest!" he shouted. "I've had one piece of law
business before I died. Good afternoon!"
Rosenheim crawled back to his desk, relit his cigar and endeavored
to pull himself together. He had a half-scared, half-puzzled look
on his face and once in awhile he scratched his head.
Meantime Peters repaired to the nearest hotel and ordered a dinner
of steak and fried potatoes, washed down with a pint of champagne.
He then purchased a new suit of clothes, a box of collars, a few
shirts, and a hat. When he entered Mr. Banks' office an hour later
the latter with difficulty recognized his visitor.
"I owe you three hundred dollars, I believe," remarked Peters,
laying down the bills.
"Owe--me--What? You didn't get that money out of Rosenheim?"
stammered Banks.
"Why not?" asked Peters casually. "Of course I did. Every cent
of it."
Banks looked at him in utter amazement. He, too, scratched his
head.
"Say," he suddenly exploded, "you must be quite a feller! Now,
look here, I've got a claim against the Pennsylvania and Susquehanna
Terminal Company for two million dollars that I wish you'd come in
and give me a little help on. What do you say?"
Peters hesitated and pursed his lips.
"Oh, I don't mind if I do," said he carelessly.
You may have heard of the celebrated law firm of Banks & Peters--
who do a business of about four hundred thousand a year? Well,
that is Peters. Banks says he's "the ablest young lawyer in New
York."
Peters, however, does not deserve the same credit as another young
fellow of my acquaintance, since in Peters' case necessity was the
parent of his invention; whereas in the other the scheme that led
to success was the offspring of an ingenuity that needed no starvation
to stimulate it into activity.
Baldwin was a youth of about thirty, who had done pretty well at
the bar without giving any evidence of brilliancy and only moderate
financial success. He perceived the obvious fact that the way to
make money at the law is to have money-makers for clients, but he
had no acquaintances with financiers and had no reason to advance
to himself why he should ever hope to receive any business from
such. Reading one day that a certain young attorney he knew had
received a large retainer for bringing an injunction in an important
railroad matter, it occurred to him that, after all, it was merely
chance and nothing else that had sent the business to the other
instead of to himself. "If I'd only known Morgan H. Rogers I might
have had the job myself," thought he.
So he pondered deeply over how he could get to know Mr. Morgan H.
Rogers and at last conceived the idea of pretending that he had
a client who--without disclosing his name for the time being--
desired to create a trust for the benefit of a charity in which
the railroad magnate was much interested. With this excuse he
found no difficulty in securing an interview and making an agreeable
impression. The next step was more difficult.
Finally, having learned through a clerk in the banker's office with
whom he had cultivated an acquaintance that Mr. Morgan H. Rogers
was going to Boston at a certain hour that very afternoon, he donned
his best funeral suit and boarded the same train himself. As he
passed through the drawing-room car he bowed to the great man, who
returned his greeting with the shortness characteristic of him,
and passed on to the smoker, where he ensconced himself in a chair
near the door, depositing on the seat next to him a pile of magazines
and his coat. Half an hour passed and the car filled up, save for
the seat next the young lawyer. Presently the bulky form of Morgan
H. Rogers filled the door-way. He already had a black unlit cigar
in his mouth and he scanned the rows of seats with ill-concealed
disappointment. Then his eye caught the one occupied by our friend's
coat.
"Let me have this seat!" said he abruptly.
"Oh, how are you, Mr. Rogers!" exclaimed the young lawyer.
"Certainly! Let me give you a light."
"Your name's Baldwin, isn't it?" inquired the banker as he took up
a magazine. "Saw you about that trust matter last week, didn't I?"
"Yes," answered Baldwin. "Nothing has occurred in connection with
it since then."
And he returned to his paper without paying any further attention
to his companion. At Bridgeport a telegraph boy rushed into the
car and yelled: "Baldwin! Mr. Baldwin!"
Mr. Baldwin held out his hand, in which lay half a dollar, and
without much apparent interest opened the envelope and scanned its
contents.
"H'm!" he remarked, half inwardly, and thrust the paper into his
pocket.
At New Haven another boy boarded the train, calling anxiously for
Everitt P. Baldwin--this time there were two telegrams; and just
as the train pulled out a third arrived.
Mr. Baldwin read them all with the keenest interest and could hardly
conceal an exclamation of satisfaction; but the magnate gave no
sign. At New London there was another flurry and, in spite of
himself, Mr. Baldwin slapped his knee and muttered: "Good enough!"
As the train started again Morgan H. Rogers let fall his magazine
and growled half-facetiously:
"What the devil are all those telegrams about?"
"Just a little injunction suit," the young man answered modestly,
"in which my firm has been quite successful." And, without giving
any names--for, indeed, there were none--he sketched rapidly a
hypothetical situation of the greatest legal delicacy, in which he
had tied up an imaginary railroad system with an injunction,
supposedly just made permanent. Morgan H. Rogers became interested
and offered Mr. Baldwin a remarkably big cigar. He had been having
a few troubles of his own of a similar character. In a few moments
the two were deep in the problems of one of the financier's own
transcontinental lines and a week later Baldwin was on Rogers'
regular staff of railroad attorneys.
It is pleasant to reflect upon such happy incidents in the history
of a profession that probably offers more difficulties to the
beginner than any other. Yet the very obstacles to success in it
are apt to develop an intellectual agility and a flexibility of
morals which, in the long run, may well lead not only to fortune,
but to fame--of one sort or another. I recall an incident in my
own career, upon my ingenuity in which, for a time, I looked back
with considerable professional pride, until I found it a common
practice among my elders and contemporaries of the criminal and
even of the civil bar.
It so happened that I had an elderly client of such an exceedingly
irascible disposition that he was always taking offence at imaginary
insults and was ready to enter into litigation of the fiercest
character at the slightest excuse. Now, though he was often in
the right, he was nevertheless frequently in the wrong--and equally
unreasonable in either case. He was turned over to me in despair
by another and older attorney, who could do nothing with him and
wished me joy in my undertaking. I soon found that the old
gentleman's guiding principle was "Millions for defence, but not
one cent for tribute." In other words, as he always believed
himself to have been imposed upon, he litigated almost every bill
that was presented to him, with the result that three times out of
five judgment was given against him. He had himself studied for
the bar and had a natural fondness for technicalities; and he was
quite ready to pay handsomely any one he believed to be zealously
guarding his interests.
He was, at the time I became acquainted with him, nearly seventy
years of age and his chief diversion was to sit in my office and
harangue me upon his grievances. Being a sort of sea-lawyer himself
he was forever devising quaint defences and strange reasons why he
should not pay his creditors; and he was ever ready to spend a
hundred dollars in lawyers' fees in order to save fifty. This is
the most desirable variety of client a lawyer can have.
One trifling weakness, common to mankind in general, gave him much
encouragement; for he soon discovered that, rather than incur the
trouble of hiring lawyers and going to court, his creditors would
usually compound with him for considerably less than their just
claims. This happened so frequently that he almost never paid a
bill in the first instance, with the natural result that those who
had sent him honest bills before, after one or two experiences with
him, made it a practice to add thirty per cent. or so to the total,
in order that they might later on gracefully reduce their demands
without loss. Thus my client, by his peevishness, actually created
the very condition regarding which, out of an overactive imagination,
he had complained originally without just cause.
It so happened that the first matter in which he required my services
was a dispute over a tailor's bill that he regarded as excessive.
He had ordered a pair of trousers without inquiring the price and
was shocked to discover that he had been charged three dollars more
than for his last pair. The tailor explained at great length that
the first had been summer weight and that these were winter weight;
but to no purpose.
"You think you can take advantage of me because I'm an old man!"
he shrieked in rage. "But you'll find out. Just wait until I see
my lawyer!"
So down he came to my office and fumed and chattered for an hour
or more about the extra three dollars on his trousers. If he had
been less abusive the tailor might have overlooked the matter; but
even a tailor has a soul, and this time the man swore to have the
law on his cantankerous customer.
"Fight to the last ditch!" shouted the old man. "Don't yield an
inch!"
A day or two later the tailor served my client, whose name was
Wimbleton, with a summons and complaint; and I was forced to put
in an answer, in which I took issue upon the reasonable value of
the trousers. By the time I had drawn the papers and listened to
my client's detailed history of the transaction, as well as his
picturesque denunciation of his opponent, I had already put in
about a hundred dollars' worth of my time without any prospect of
a return. I knew that if the case were tried it would mean a day
lost for myself and a judgment against my client. The old fellow
had a large amount of property, however, and I was willing to take
a loss if it meant future business. Yet the time involved and the
trifling character of the suit annoyed me and I resolved to take
it upon myself to settle the matter over my client's head.
On my way home I stopped in at the tailor's and told him to take
his three dollars and discontinue his action, which he was glad
enough to do. The next day I wrote Mr. Wimbleton that I had forced
his enemy to capitulate--horse, foot, and dragoons--and that the
suit had been withdrawn. My embarrassment may be imagined when my
client arrived at the office in a state of delirious excitement
and insisted not only on inviting me to dinner, but on paying me
fifty dollars for services in giving him the satisfaction of beating
the tailor. Instantly I saw a means of entirely satisfying the
old man and earning some good fees without the slightest exertion.
The same method--although for another purpose--will be recalled by
my readers as having been invoked by the unjust steward who called
his lord's debtors to him and inquired how much they owed. One,
if I remember correctly, said a hundred measures of oil.
"Take thy bill," said the steward, "and sit down quickly, and write
fifty."
Another, who confessed to owing a hundred measures of wheat, the
steward let off with eighty. On discovering what he had done his
lord commended him for having done wisely, on the ground that the
children of this world were wiser than the children of light.
Thus, it will be observed, my early Biblical training stood me in
practical stead; and the only difference between the unjust steward
and myself lay in the manner in which we were each eventually
treated by our respective masters. Indeed, I found this Scriptural
scheme so profitable and effective that soon my client swore I was
the cleverest lawyer he had ever employed.
Some one would commence a suit against him for damages for breach
of contract amounting to a couple of thousand dollars, where he
thought he ought to pay only fifteen hundred, but where he really
had no defense. I would file an elaborate answer setting up all
sorts of defences, move for an examination of the plaintiff and of
his books and papers, secure a bill of particulars and go through
all sorts of legal hocus-pocus to show how bitterly I was contesting
the case as a matter of principle. Before the action came to trial,
however, I would settle it for one thousand seven hundred and fifty
dollars, telling my client that we had brought the other side to
his terms, and charge him seven hundred and fifty dollars for my
services--thus netting five hundred dollars in fees.
Often, when the amount sued for was small--say, fifty or one hundred
dollars--and where my client had absolutely declined to pay anything,
I paid the claim in full, simply for the satisfaction of leading
him to believe that he had been successful in resisting what he
regarded as an unjust or excessive demand.
This went on for several years, until, quite by chance, one of his
creditors, with whom I had settled over his head, either out of
forgetfulness or an evil wish to do me a bad turn, wrote him a
letter thanking him for his generosity. The next day he appeared,
purple with rage, and for some unaccountable reason, instead of
"commending" me, denounced me for a shyster. And this in spite of
the undoubted fact that my pacific methods had probably saved him
hundreds of dollars!
It was about this time that Gottlieb devised a truly brilliant
scheme, which had to commend it the highly desirable quality of
being absolutely safe.
There is a very wise provision of our law to the effect that, where
a wife desires to bring an action against her husband for divorce
and is without means for the purpose, the courts will allow her a
counsel fee and alimony _pendente lite_. The counsel fee is to
enable her to pay a lawyer and prepare for trial, and the amount
usually varies from one hundred to one thousand dollars.
One morning my partner came grinning into my office and showed me
a very soiled and wrinkled paper.
"What d'ye think of that?" he laughed.
The document, which turned out to be an affidavit executed in
Chicago, read as follows:
"STATE OF ILLINOIS )
"COOK COUNTY, CITY OF CHICAGO ) ss.
"LIZZIE YARNOWSKI, being duly sworn, deposes and says that she is
over twenty-one years of age and engaged in the employment of making
artificial flowers; that in the year 1881 the defendant induced
her to leave her home in New York and journey with him in the West
under a promise of marriage, representing himself to be a traveling
salesman employed by a manufacturer of soda fountains; that they
were married on July 5, 1881, in the town of Piqua, Ohio, by a
justice of the peace under the names of Sadie Bings and Joshua
Blank, and by a rabbi in Chicago on August 17, 1881; that two weeks
thereafter defendant deserted plaintiff and has never since
contributed toward her support, and that she has since learned that
the defendant is a banker and a broker, doing business on Wall
Street in the city of New York."
The affidavit then went on to state that the defendant had given
the plaintiff good grounds for seeking for a divorce and that she
was without means to engage counsel or prepare for trial. The
contents of the paper was skilfully worded so as to convey the
impression that the deponent was a woman of somewhat doubtful
character herself, but that on the other hand she had been tricked
by the defendant into a secret--and what he intended to be a
temporary--marriage. Attached thereto was another affidavit from
the justice of the peace to the effect that on the date in question
he had united in the holy bonds of matrimony a man and a woman who
had given the names of Sadie Bings and Joshua Blank.
"Well, Gottlieb," said I, "this is interesting reading, whether it
be fact or fiction; but what is its significance to us?"
"Why," answered my associate, "these are the papers I propose to
use on a motion for counsel fee and alimony in a divorce action
brought against Mr. Chester Gates, a broker downtown--and, I may
add, a very rich and respectable young gentleman. Of course, I
have no personal knowledge of the matter, as the case has been sent
to us by one of our legal friends in Chicago; but I am quite sure
that the court will grant me a counsel fee in order to enable the
poor woman to prepare her case and bring it to trial."
"But," I replied, "we have made just such applications a thousand
times before, have we not?"
Gottlieb gave me one of his long, slow winks.
"Not just like this," said he, and went back into his room, while
I pondered on what I had read.
A few days later Gottlieb served the complaint in an action for
absolute divorce upon Mr. Chester Gates, to the young man's great
indignation and annoyance; and shortly thereafter a very respectable
and prosperous old family lawyer called upon us to explain that
the whole matter was a mistake and that his client had never, never
been married, and knew no Miss Lizzie Yarnowski, either as Sadie
Bings or under any other name.
Gottlieb and I treated him with the greatest deference, explaining
that we had no option but to go on with the matter, as we were only
acting for our Chicago correspondent. At this the old lawyer grew
very indignant and muttered something under his breath about perjury
and blackmail, to which, however, neither Gottlieb nor I paid any
attention. A week or so later we made our motion for alimony and
counsel fee _pendente lite_, and in spite of the vehement affidavit
of Chester Gates, Esquire, that he had never seen or heard of the
plaintiff nor been married to anybody in his life, the court granted
us two hundred and fifty dollars as counsel fee.
This was made payable at our office, as the attorneys for plaintiff;
and a day or two later Mr. Gates himself called and asked to see
us. He was a rosy-cheeked, athletic young fellow, who could, I
fancy, have knocked both our heads together had he chosen to do so.
"Good afternoon, gentlemen," said he, closing the door and seating
himself at Gottlieb's invitation. This is a very interesting
experience you are putting me through. I am made the defendant in
a divorce action and ordered to pay you two hundred and fifty
dollars on affidavits that I know are perjured from start to finish.
Well, if that's law I have nothing to say. Of course, you can't
win your case, because you can't prove that I ever married anybody
--which latter fact, of course, you very well know. I would never
pay you a cent to settle this or any other unfounded suit, and I
never did anything for which you or any other scoun--beg pardon, I
mean lawyer--could blackmail me. But this is a new one on me.
You have got a court order that I am to pay you two hundred and
fifty dollars to bring a bogus action against myself. Well, here's
my check for it. I congratulate you. Now, I'm amused to see what
you're going to do next. I want to get something for my money."
Gottlieb took the check and rang a bell for the office boy.
"Take this over to the bank and cash it," he directed. "That's
the first thing I'm going to do," turning to Gates. "The next is
this." He opened the top drawer of his desk and took out a legal
paper. "Here," said he, "is a discontinuance of the action, which
I received this morning from Chicago. I suppose you have no
objection to having the matter disposed of in that way? You'll
take it?"
Mr. Gates looked at him for a moment and then burst out laughing.
"By George!" he exclaimed. "Take it? Of course I'll take it. I
have no particular desire to go on with the litigation, I assure
you. I fully expected to be adjudged the father of a large family
of little Yarnowskis. But, now that the matter is settled, would
you mind telling me who the lady really is?"
Gottlieb looked at him very solemnly and, to my horror, gave an
imperceptible wink.
"All I can tell you, sir," he replied, "is that her name is Lizzie
Yarnowski, and that you married her under the name of Sadie Bings
before a justice of the peace at Piqua, Ohio."
At one time Gottlieb and I represented a very objectionable old
party who ran a scurrilous "society" paper, chiefly for the
opportunity it gave him to blackmail people. His method was the
very simple one of publishing some unfounded scandal without using
any names, and then to print a paragraph immediately following in
which the real names of the parties appeared, ostensibly with
relation to some other item of news:
"It is a well-known fact that a certain young society couple, both
of whom have, to say the least, led rather lurid lives, are no
longer on good terms and are carrying on--_sub rosa_--independent
establishments. Mr. ---- prefers the upper West Side, while Mrs.
---- has a tidy little Louis XVI flat on Eleventh Street. Incidentally
the family mansion remains at ---- Fifth Avenue.
"Mr. and Mrs. Kopeck Louis d'Or Jones are not going to Newport this
summer. There is a persistent rumor that Mrs. Jones will remain
with her mother on the Hudson, while her husband's plans are quite
indefinite."
In point of fact it was Gottlieb who had invented this neat method
of publishing scandal without any of the usual attendant risks.
Generally what would happen would be that the day after the issuing
of the number in which the objectionable article had appeared, Mr.
Kopeck Louis d'Or Jones would call up the white-haired editor of
_Social Sifting_ on the telephone and tell him that he proposed to
sue him for libel unless he printed an immediate retraction. Our
client would thereupon refer him to Gottlieb, who would explain to
Mr. Jones that the libel in question had no reference to him
whatsoever; that he could hardly expect _favorable_ items to appear
about him unless he took a financial interest in the paper; and
end by offering to negotiate a purchase for him of some of the
stock. In many instances the injured parties would instantly take
this means of insuring that no further publications of such a
character should appear. The stock usually cost about ten thousand
dollars, which went into the pocket of the "General," as he was
called; and from that time on none but the most pleasing reflections
could be found in the columns of his paper in regard to its new
stockholder.
Unfortunately for all parties, however, the "General" took exception
to the size of one of our bills and we parted with mutual
recriminations, although he had paid us many thousands of dollars
in fees and we had saved him many more in judgments. He still owed
us a large sum of money, but Gottlieb had tied up his property in
such a fashion that the old fellow was judgment-proof. He was thus
able to snap his fingers in our faces, a fact that naturally
intensified our hard feelings against him. We cherished our anger
until an appropriate occasion should present itself for getting
even with him, which occurred sooner than any of us, least of all
the "General," expected.
It so happened that one of the victims, having failed to "come
across" substantially enough, discovered very shortly another
libelous paragraph, which reflected very seriously upon his young
and attractive wife; and as it was pretty generally known at the
time that the "General" and ourselves had parted company, the
husband forthwith came to us for advice.
"Of course," said he ruefully, "I can't thrash a white-haired
villain who is old enough to be my grandfather, even if I could
get to him, which is unlikely. You know he has an inner office
'way off from the rest and sneaks in and out, up and down the back
stairs. A suit for libel wouldn't do any good and the publicity
would hurt more than the satisfaction I might get out of a verdict.
But vengeance I'll have--at any cost. How can I get it?"
Gottlieb pondered the matter for several days and at last sent for
his new client, at the same time making an appointment at our office
with a well-known feather-weight prize-fighter.
"If you will leave this matter to me I'll guarantee--for a thousand
dollars--that the 'General' shall receive as severe a pounding as
his old carcass can stand."
The client joyfully wrote out a check to our order and an hour
later Hennessey, the celebrated bantam, arrayed in the uniform of
an overgrown messenger boy, called with a letter at the "General's"
office and asked to see him. He had, he insisted, orders to deliver
the letter into nobody's hands but those of the "General" himself,
and on this pretext in due course found himself, after being led
through a labyrinth of passages and stairs, in the presence of our
ex-client.
"Are you General ----?" he inquired.
"That's my name," answered the "General."
"I've got a letter for yous," continued the bantam, fumbling in
his cap and producing two letters, one of which he handed over.
The "General" took it and his eye glinted for he perceived that it
was addressed to a very well-known member of society whose escapades
were notorious. Quickly he ran his penknife through the tongue of
the envelope.
"Hold on, there!" suddenly cried Hennessey. "I've give yous the
wrong letter. Here's yours. That one is for Mr. ----. Gimme it
back!"
"One moment, my boy!" replied the "General," hastily tearing open
the envelope. "Just one moment."
"Don't you take out dat letter! It ain't fer yous!" expostulated
the messenger. "Here's your letter."
But the "General," with watering mouth, was already feverishly
devouring a violet-colored note beginning, "Darling Guy," his
bulbous nose close to the paper and scenting scandal in every line
--that is, he devoured it until, quite unexpectedly, the bantam
squared off and proceeded to hand him a few "upper cuts," "hooks,"
and straight leads from the shoulder, until the scandalmonger howled
for mercy. But the bantam had his instructions.
"No!" says he. Bing! "I'll teach you to read other people's
letters!" Bing! "I'll show yous what yous'll get if yous violates
de United States mail--see?" Bing! "Read Mr. ----'s letter, will
yous?" Bing! "Not wit' me here--see?" Bing! Bing! "You white-
haired old son of a printing-press!"
Hennessey's description, on his return to the office, of the
"General's" appearance at the conclusion of his drubbing was
eminently satisfactory; and he forthwith exchanged his messenger's
uniform for his Broadway regalia and a crisp one-hundred dollar
bill. That is the only time, so far as I ever learned, that the
"General" ever got his real deserts; but I am glad that he did,
for once. And the sight of his red nose--somehow it looks redder
now than it used to--invariably fills me with satisfaction.
Quite naturally our firm attracted a number of strange wastrels in
the way of clients, all of whom were picturesque and many of them
profitable. Among these was a gentleman known as the "Human Dog,"
who frequented the main thoroughfares during the crowded hours and
simulated the performances of a starving animal with a verisimilitude
that I believe to have been unsurpassed in the annals of beggary.
He would go on all fours snuffling along the gutters for food and
when he came to a morsel of offal he would fall upon it and devour
it ravenously. If he found nothing he would whine and sit on his
hind legs--so to speak--on the curb, with an imploring look on his
hairy face. If a police officer approached the "Human Dog" would
immediately roll over on his back, with his legs in the air, and
yelp piteously; in fact, he combined the "lay" of insanity with
that of starvation in a most ingenious and skilful manner. He was
a familiar sight and a bugbear to the police, who were constantly
arresting him; but, as he never asked for money, they had great
difficulty in doing anything with him. Usually the magistrate sent
him to the "Island," for thirty days and then Gottlieb would get
him out on a writ of habeas corpus. Some of these writs attracted
the attention of the bar and several appear in the reports. I am
under the impression that we secured his release some twenty-nine
separate times. At last he died in a fit of apoplexy caused by
overeating; and when we administered his estate we found that he
had already laid by, in a comparatively brief career, the very
creditable sum of forty-one thousand dollars.
The "Human Dog" was but a clever variation of the "Crust-Thrower"
--the beggar who tosses a dirty crust of bread into the gutter when
no one is looking and then falls upon it with a cry of fierce joy.
These "crust-throwers" have plied their trade for over six hundred
years and were known in England and Flanders long before the
discovery of America. Gottlieb was very shrewd at devising schemes
that came just within the law and used to amuse himself by so doing
in his leisure moments. One of the best--the idea which he sold
for three hundred dollars and which is still being used in New
York, Chicago, and elsewhere--is the following:
An old man, with a square of plate glass in a newspaper and a bundle
of glass-cutter's tools by his side is seen sitting dejectedly on
a curb with his head in his hands. He has no coat and the icy wind
blows through his straggling locks of gray hair--a pathetic picture.
He seems utterly discouraged, but no word of complaint passes his
lips. Presently a well-dressed woman approaches and her pity is
instantly aroused. She accosts him, and the aged one informs her
in a faint voice that he works in Harlem and has been sent by his
boss to set a pane of glass on Varick Street; but not knowing
exactly where Varick Street is, he has got off the elevated at
Fifty-ninth Street and finds that he is still several miles from
his destination. What woman, unless she had a heart of granite,
would not be moved by such a tale! She opens her purse and pours
its contents into his lap; for it is a psychological truth that,
if you can once get a woman up to the point of giving anything,
she will give all that she has. How often have I seen these old
men--the children of Gottlieb's brain--sitting patiently and silently
on the streets! And how often have they paid us handsome fees to
get them out of the "jug"!
In this catalogue of clients I must not forget "Banana Anna," who
recently, I am sad to say, met her Waterloo. Anna was a lady so
peculiarly gifted by the Almighty that she was able at will to
simulate a very severe physical mishap. I shall not describe with
any greater degree of particularity what her precise affliction
was, save to say that if genuine it would have entitled her to the
sympathy and generosity of mankind. It was the kind of thing that
might easily result from a fall; but which, in fact, under ordinary
circumstances gave her no inconvenience whatever.
Anna would conceal a bit of banana peel in her muff and, dropping
in upon a station platform, would put her heel upon it and fall
prostrate, uttering a groan of pain. The guard would come hastily
to her assistance and find, to his horror, a woman with every mark
of respectability suffering terrible agony from a condition obviously
the result of a fall caused by a bit of banana skin carelessly left
lying upon the premises. An ambulance would be summoned, but she
would insist upon being taken to her own home--an imposing mansion
--and calling her own physician. In due course the railroad would
send its doctor, who would report that her condition was serious;
and, as the leaving of a banana peel upon a public platform is in
its very nature "negligent," the company's lawyer would recommend
settlement. Thus "Banana Anna" was able to live in comfort if not
in luxury; and an infirmity that might under other circumstances
have been a curse became, in fact, a blessing. Of course she took
a new name and hired--temporarily--a new residence for each accident;
but, as she moved from city to city, she was able to keep up the
same old ruse for years.
Perhaps our most interesting client was the one who made his living
by supplying "to the trade" all kinds of corporate bonds and
certificates of stock. Some of these bonds had originally been
issued by corporations in good standing, but had been exchanged,
cancelled, outlawed, or in some other way had become valueless.
How our client secured them I never discovered. He also dealt in
the repudiated bonds of Southern cities and States, which can be
purchased for practically nothing almost everywhere.
His principal line of goods, however, was the bonds of companies
that he incorporated himself and disposed of at cut rates to a
clientele all his own. These companies all bore impressive names,
such as Tennessee Gas, Heat, and Power Company, the Mercedes-Panard-
Charon Motor Vehicle Supply Company, the Nevada Coal, Coke, Iron,
and Bi-product Company, the Chicago Banking and Securities Company,
the Southern Georgia Land and Fruit Company, and so on. He had an
impressive office in a marble-fronted building on Wall Street,
doors covered with green baize inside and gold lettering outside,
and he wore a tall hat and patent-leather shoes. He also had a
force of several young lady stenographers and clerks, who acted as
the officers and directors of his various concerns, all of which
were legally incorporated under the laws of West Virginia and New
Jersey. His clients were the gilt-edged "con" men of Wall and
Nassau Streets, who, when they needed them, could purchase a couple
of hundred engraved one-thousand-dollar bonds of imposing appearance,
in a real corporation, for a few hundred dollars in cash.
Our client did not act as an officer of these himself, but merely
took a power of attorney from the president, secretary, and treasurer,
authorizing him to sign their names to these bond issues. Yet no
one ever saw these officers, all of whom had names connotative of
wealth and financial responsibility. The Gates, Morgan, Rogers,
and other families multiplied and brought forth at the mere wave
of his pen. If you wished a half-million bond issue you simply
called him up on the telephone and some "Light and Power Company"
would hold a directors' meeting and vote a fifty-year debenture
gold seven-per-cent security that you could peddle around at fifty-
eight and one-eighth to unsuspecting investors, so as to net them
merely thirteen per cent. on their money--when they got it. You
could buy a million in these bonds for about three hundred and
seventy-five dollars and fifty cents; but they were real bonds in
real companies and legally issued against some form of property,
even if it had no market value. Sometimes, I am told, these
securities paid interest for a year or so, and the suckers got
their friends in while there were a few left--bonds, I mean--there
are always suckers.
Like other egoists, our client became careless as time went on and
one day took it upon himself to issue a few hundred bonds in a
company without holding a directors' meeting. He should not be
severely blamed for neglecting a detail of this sort when he was
so well aware of its purely formal if not farcical character.
Still, it was one of those little slips that even the most careful
of us will sometimes make, and the district-attorney took an
underhand advantage of our friend and indicted him for forging the
names of the officers of the company to an unauthorized issue of
bonds. Gottlieb and I had, perforce, to defend him; but, unfortunately,
his real defence would have been even worse than the charge. He
could not say that there was no real company and that there were
no such human beings as the persons whose names he had written
across the back of the bonds in question.
Poor fellow! He was an absolutely innocent man. Yet he went to
Sing Sing for seven years for committing no crime at all. How
could he forge the names of persons who did not exist? However,
he had invented these financial Frankensteins and they finally
overwhelmed him. Somewhere lying around I have my share of the
fee in this case--I forget just where. It consists of fourteen
millions in the securities of the National Mortgage and Security
Company of Jampole, Mississippi.