A VISIT FROM “THE FERRET”
Johnny did not lack friends. Those who visited him during his brief
illness were an interesting lot.
On the third night, just after darkness had fallen, “The Ferret”
appeared. With him was the nameless youth, he of the burning eyes.
“The Ferret” seemed nervous and ill at ease. Johnny thought this
strange; it was not at all like him. In the light of what took place
later it was not to seem so strange.
“This lad,” “The Ferret” explained, walking the floor the while, “wants
to know more about the city, about men who break the law, and those who
are appointed to defend her honest citizens. Particularly he wants to
know more about your friends, Drew Lane and Tom Howe.”
There was no subject closer to Johnny’s heart than the valor of his two
young detective friends. So, while “The Ferret” slowly paced the floor,
he filled the ears of the eager youth with tales of their daring.
“There! There!” “The Ferret” exclaimed at last. “You have told him
enough. Knew too much before. You’ll get him killed. He—”
The youth shot him a look, and there the conversation ended. The
extraordinary pair left soon after. Alone with his thoughts, Johnny
meditated upon many matters of more or less importance.
“There is,” he told himself, “an indefinable relationship between those
two. It is as if they had known each other always, but never too well;
and yet as if an unbreakable bond linked them together for life. It is
strange, for ‘The Ferret’ is a middle aged man; the other only a boy.”
That night he listened as always to the mysterious Voice of the air.
This night that earnest Voice made his remarks more sweeping, more
pointed and scathing than ever.
“This city is filled with traitors. And some are traitors who know it
not.” Thus the voice of the unknown one rang out into the night, and a
hundred thousand, listening, thrilled they knew not why.
“When an officer of the law,” he went on, “accepts money from a
bootlegger, a gambler or any other law breaker, he is a traitor to the
city he has sworn to serve.
“But these are not the only traitors.” The voice of the speaker was
tense with emotion. “Everything goes out over the air.” This is a slogan
of radio workers everywhere. Something was going out this night,
memorable words that would not be forgotten.
“There are rich traitors,” the Voice went on. “When a rich man pays
large sums to crooked politicians so that his taxes on his vast holdings
may be reduced, he is a traitor.
“There are poor traitors, thousands of them. You may be one. If you have
paid some one in your ward ten or twenty or forty dollars to have your
taxes reduced, you, too, are a traitor.
“If taxes are unjust, fight them. Fight them in the courts. If the
courts fail you, rise up and fight with rifles and machine guns. But
never, never stoop to corruption to betray the city you should love.”
These were hard words. They were spoken in a tone that told of an
earnest desire to serve. There were those listening who found themselves
repeating those words of a great Master:
“Oh, Jerusalem, Jerusalem, thou that killeth the prophets and stoneth
them which are sent unto thee, how often would I have gathered thy
children together even as a hen gathereth her chickens under her wings,
and ye would not.” These said, “This city is no different from
Jerusalem. This young prophet, too, will be killed.”
Many there were who became very angry. Rich men and poor men,
politicians and crooks, were together in this one thing: they had been
called traitors. And traitor is a hard word.
The telephone of that radio station rang again and again that night.
Angry voices, sympathetic voices, voices filled with a consuming
curiosity, were at the other end of the lines. One and all, they asked
the same question:
“Who is this Voice?”
To them all came the same answer:
“We do not know. We know no more about the Voice than you do,” the
announcer patiently explained. “He comes to us by remote control. We
throw in a switch, and his voice is here.”
“Is he in this city?”
“We do not know. Perhaps he is not human at all, but only a voice from
another world.”
These words had their effect. There were some who at heart had meant to
be honest. These put their receivers down softly and went into
conference with their own hearts. Some made high resolves.
There were those, too, whose hearts were as stone, whose whole beings
were filled with hate and greed. These slammed down the receivers and
vowed revenge.
But what revenge, and how? How did one punish a voice?
“That fellow will get himself killed,” was Johnny’s comment. “And what a
pity!”
There were honest folk who thought the words of this young prophet too
harsh. There were those who hoped for a regeneration of their city.
There were those who despaired. And there were all too many who asked
for nothing so loudly as they did for the silencing of this mysterious
Voice, which was, they averred, worse than an accusing conscience.
On this particular night the Voice went from these broad statements to
specific cases. He told of many honest and sincere servants of the
people who had endeavored to do their full duty; told also how they had
been crowded back into places of little or no importance.
He spoke of police officers sent to the “sticks” because of their
sincere attempts to enforce the law.
He came at last to the case of Drew Lane and Tom Howe. By this time one
of the great newspapers of the city had taken up the fight. It had
devoted two full columns to their defense. The Voice spoke of this, and
then launched upon a recital of their many acts of danger and daring.
As Johnny listened his cheeks burned. Twice he clapped his hands and
shouted.
“Bravo! Great! Great! Go to it, old top!”
But again he grew very sober. How could this Voice know all these facts?
There was something very intimate and personal about it all.
“Perhaps ‘The Ferret’ told him,” he murmured. And then a thought struck
him. “What if he is—”
He did not finish. The thing seemed quite improbable. But if it were
true, how had “The Ferret” happened upon him?
“A strange fellow, that Ferret!” he said to himself aloud. “Always has
plenty of money, yet he does not appear to be employed by anyone. They
say he is rich, or has a rich friend. Who knows? Perhaps both statements
are true. Of one thing I am sure. He is sincere.”