A NIGHT’S WORK.
Patrolman John Hicks, of the Oldham police force, was a fairly vigilant
guardian of the law--in the daytime. But when his turn came to do night
duty, which happened regularly every second week, he always felt drowsy,
no matter how much sleep he took by day to prepare himself for his
nocturnal vigil.
“Which goes to show that night work ain’t the right thing for a man,”
Mr. Hicks was in the habit of complaining to his intimate friend. “It’s
against nature. The daytime was made for man to work in, and the night
for man to sleep in. Even the dumb beasts and the birds close their eyes
at night. When you try to reverse this order of things, Nature
rebels--and you can’t blame her.”
Being anxious to offend Nature as little as possible, Officer Hicks had
cultivated the habit of going to sleep standing up. So proficient had he
become in this difficult art that he could lean against a lamp-post and
slumber as soundly as if he were in his own comfortable bed at home.
The night which Hawley had selected for his photographic exposé of
police conditions in Oldham happened to be one of the nights on which
Patrolman Hicks was on duty.
He had selected the most comfortable lamp-post on his beat, and was
propped against it, enjoying a deep sleep, when a big, black touring
car, containing three men, came along.
The automobile was moving almost noiselessly, but even if the man at the
wheel had honked his horn as it drew near, it wouldn’t have caused any
discomfort to Officer Hicks. He was too sound a sleeper to be bothered
by the ordinary sounds of street traffic.
In his somnolent moments, Mr. Hicks did not present a very picturesque
appearance. Only a slender man can lean against a lamp-post and look
graceful; and Officer Hicks was almost as fat as Chief of Police
Hodgins. Moreover, like the latter, he had the habit of sleeping with
his mouth partly open.
But in spite of its lack of picturesqueness, his appearance caused
great delight to the three men in the black touring car.
That vehicle came to a stop a few feet away from the lamp-post, and one
of the men leaned over the side of the tonneau, and pointed a camera
toward the slumbering bluecoat.
Then there came a vivid flash of light, a dull, booming sound, and a
chuckle of triumph from the man with the camera.
Possibly the dull, booming sound and the chuckle of the man would not
have aroused Patrolman Hicks by themselves, but the vivid flash of light
hitting him squarely on the eyelids brought him to his senses in an
instant.
Springing to an erect position, he stared in ludicrous astonishment at
the automobile in front of him.
He was about to step into the roadway and ask the three men what had
happened, but before he could carry out his intention the automobile had
started off at great speed.
“Oh, well,” Officer Hicks muttered to himself, “I guess it was nothing
serious. Probably a fuse blew out, or something of that sort. Them
automobiles is queer things.”
With this reflection, he once more settled himself comfortably against
the lamp-post, and resumed his interrupted slumbers.
“That was a cinch!” said the Camera Chap to his two companions, as the
touring car sped through the quiet street. “Didn’t I tell you, Fred,
that there wouldn’t be much danger?”
“Well, we can’t expect that they’ll all be as easy as that one,” Carroll
replied. “Ye gods! Just imagine the lives and property of the people of
Oldham being intrusted to the care of a lazy, good-for-nothing shirker
like that! I hope you got a good picture of him, Frank. It certainly
ought to make the taxpayers of Oldham sit up and take notice.”
“At all events, it ought to make ’em buy _Bulletins_,” the Camera Chap
chuckled. “I bet you a new hat, Fred, that your paper’s circulation will
be more than doubled as a result of this crusade.
“But, say,” he exclaimed, as the touring car swung around a corner,
“aren’t we on another cop’s beat now? If so, hadn’t we better slow down,
and hunt for him?”
This remark was addressed to Parsons, the _Bulletin’s_ police reporter,
who was running the car. Parsons had been “covering police” for some
years, and knew the majority of the members of the force by name, and
what beat they were supposed to patrol. This expert knowledge made him a
valuable member of the expedition. As he was aware also of the habits
and weaknesses of many of the bluecoats, he was able to lead the Camera
Chap to those who were most likely to be caught shirking their duty.
The reporter glanced quickly up and down both sides of the street, and
reduced the speed of the touring car.
“This is ‘Red’ Horgan’s beat,” he announced. “And I guess I can tell you
where he is right now. Horgan is the most notorious shirker in the
department, and when he’s on night duty he generally spends most of the
time in ‘Dutch Louie’s’ place on Allendale Street. I have no doubt that
you’ll find him there now playing pinochle in the back room.”
The Camera Chap’s face lighted up at this information. “Playing
pinochle, eh?” he exclaimed eagerly. “That ought to make a bully
snapshot. Is it possible for a stranger to get into this Dutch Louie’s
place at this hour?”
“Sure!” Parsons answered, with a laugh. “He runs his place wide open all
night. Anybody can walk in and order a drink right at the bar, no matter
what the hour. Dutch Louie is a politician, as well as a liquor dealer,
and he doesn’t have to worry about his joint being pulled for violation
of the excise laws.”
“Good!” exclaimed Hawley joyously. “I was afraid I might have difficulty
in getting into the place. Is this Allendale Street we’re on now?”
“No; it’s the next corner. Louie’s place is halfway down the block,” the
reporter informed him.
“Then I think it would be a good idea to stop the car right here,” said
the Camera Chap. “I hardly think it would be a wise plan to ride right
up to the door. The sound of our motor might scare Officer Horgan into
dropping his pinochle hand.”
“No need to be afraid of that,” declared Parsons, with a laugh. “It
would take more than an automobile to faze Red Horgan. He’s a son-in-law
of one of the biggest politicians in the county, and has such a strong
pull that I guess he wouldn’t care if Chief Hodgins himself came into
the back room of the café and caught him playing cards when he ought to
be patrolling his beat. I’ve often heard him boast that there isn’t a
superior officer in the department that isn’t afraid to call him down,
no matter what he does--that if any of them dared to get gay with him,
he’d mighty soon show them where they got off at.”
“Must be a pleasant sort of chap,” said Hawley, with an ironical smile.
“It’ll be a genuine pleasure to publish his picture, eh, Fred?”
“But surely you’ve no intention of going into Dutch Louie’s place to get
it?” Carroll protested anxiously. “That’s out of the question.”
The Camera Chap looked astonished. “Why out of the question? Didn’t you
just hear Parsons say that anybody can get into the place?”
“Oh, yes, I haven’t any doubt that you could get in, all right; but if
you were rash enough to try to take a flash-light picture inside I
rather guess you’d have some difficulty in getting out. Dutch Louie’s
few patrons are a pretty tough bunch. They’d probably kick in a few of
your ribs before Officer Horgan placed you under arrest for taking
photographs without a license. Better pass this one up, old man, and
look for something a trifle easier.”
But Hawley had no intention of foregoing this opportunity to procure a
snapshot of Mr. Red Horgan in the rôle of a pinochle player. He realized
that there were difficulties in the way of his getting the picture, but
he was determined to make the attempt.
“It’ll be a gem!” he declared enthusiastically. “If I can get it and it
turns out all right, Fred, just imagine what a hit it will make with the
readers of the _Bulletin_. Stop the car, please, Parsons. Here we are at
the corner. I’m going to get out.”
Carroll clutched at his coat to restrain him, but the Camera Chap
laughingly shook off his hold, and got out of the automobile.
“You fellows wait here for me,” he said. “Keep the power turned on,
Parsons, and have the car all ready to start as soon as I come out.
It’s possible that we may have to make a hurried get-away, in which case
it would be inconvenient to have to wait until you cranked up.”
He was stepping to the sidewalk, when Carroll called to him:
“Hold on, there! If you’re such a stubborn idiot that you can’t be
dissuaded from doing this crazy thing, I’m going with you. Do you think
I’m going to stay quietly in this car while you’re inside that joint,
being killed? I guess not! The chances are a hundred to one that
there’ll be a rough-house as soon as you fire the flash,” he said. “I
don’t suppose that even with me to help you we’ll stand much chance
against that crowd; but, at all events, two’ll be better than one.”
“Three, you mean, Mr. Carroll,” exclaimed Parsons. “If there’s any
fighting to be done, I’m in on it, too, of course. I guess nobody’ll
steal the machine while we’re away.”
The _Bulletin’s_ police reporter was such a frail-looking chap that
Hawley could scarcely repress a smile at these words, although he
greatly appreciated the spirit which prompted them.
“Much obliged to both of you,” the Camera Chap said; “but, really, I
prefer to go alone. I think I can easily convince you that it will be a
much better plan for you fellows to wait here in the machine.”
“I won’t hear of any such arrangement,” Carroll declared firmly. “If you
go, I’m going, too; and if Parsons wants to come along, he’s welcome.
The more the merrier. You may have your faults, Frank, old man, but I
like you too well to be willing to sit passively here while you’re being
beaten to a pulp around the corner.”
“I’m not going to be beaten to a pulp,” the Camera Chap protested, with
a laugh. “I intend to use strategy. If I go alone, I feel confident I’ll
be able to get away with it; but if you fellows insist upon butting in,
you’ll surely queer me. I’m a stranger to that bunch at Dutch Louie’s,
but you fellows are not. Both of you would be recognized as soon as you
entered the place, and I’d have no chance to take the picture.”
Carroll had to admit that there was a lot in this argument, and, after a
little more demurring, he grudgingly consented to let Hawley have his
way in the matter.
“But I’m not going to stay here in the car,” he declared. “I’m going to
hang around outside that joint, and keep my ears wide open. As soon as I
hear the sound of a rough-house I’m coming in, for I’ll know then that,
in spite of all your resourcefulness and ingenuity, strategy has
failed.”
“All right,” assented Hawley, with a laugh. “If strategy fails, I’ll be
glad to have the help of those big fists of yours. But I feel confident
there isn’t going to be any violence.”