Chapter VI: Gale Suggests

As Chief Hodgins walked down Main Street toward the _Chronicle_ office, he became painfully aware that there was a broad grin upon the face of nearly every person he met.

Many of the amused persons had copies of the _Bulletin_ in their hands or protruding from their coat pockets; so that, although he was not a particularly sensitive man, he was forced to conclude that they were smiling at his expense.

Several small boys followed him at a discreet distance, giggling and jeering. One street urchin, more bold than the rest, came up close behind him, and gave a graphic imitation of a man snoring. With a snarl of rage, the head of the Oldham police force wheeled around, with the intention of making a terrible example of this juvenile tormentor, but the youngster darted beyond his reach. The chief started to give chase, but soon abandoned the idea. He was too fat to be much of a sprinter.

Fortunately the Chronicle Building was not far from police headquarters, so these painful experiences soon came to an end. Delancey Gale, editor and publisher of the Oldham _Chronicle_, greeted Chief Hodgins cordially when the latter stepped into his private office.

“My dear chief, this is, indeed, a pleasure,” he cried effusively. “Pray sit down and make yourself comfortable.”

Mr. Gale was a dapper little old man, with neatly trimmed white mutton-chop whiskers, and a very prominent Adam’s apple. There was something about his lean, sharp-featured countenance which made one think of a fox, although just in what respect he bore a physical resemblance to that animal it would have been difficult to point out.

As Chief Hodgins sank into a chair, he became aware of the fact that he and the editor were not the only occupants of the room. A good-looking young man whose clothes were of the very latest cut stood near the window, with his profile toward the policeman.

“You’ve met my son, of course, chief?” said the editor and publisher of the _Chronicle_.

“Sure!” replied Hodgins, with a gracious nod to the young man. “But I declare I shouldn’t have known him. He’s changed a whole lot since I saw him last. That was more’n ten years ago, I guess. Doin’ newspaper work in New York, ain’t you, sir?”

“He has been,” replied the elder Gale, with a proud look in the direction of the young man. “For several years, chief, my son has been a distinguished member of the staff of the New York _Daily News_. But he has resigned that position to come out here and help me run the _Chronicle_.”

“A very sensible idea,” said Hodgins. “But now, Mr. Gale, to get down to my business. I’m a little rushed for time, so you’ll excuse me for bein’ brief. Have you--ahem!--seen to-day’s issue of the _Bulletin_?”

“Of course,” replied the elder Gale, with a deprecating smile. “I presume you are referring to those disgraceful pictures? They are an outrage!”

“They certainly are that,” growled Hodgins. “What would you advise me to do about them, Mr. Gale--to set myself right in the eyes of the public, I mean?”

Again Mr. Gale smiled deprecatingly. “I scarcely think there is any need to worry about that, chief. It isn’t likely that the public will pay any attention to anything that appears in our disreputable contemporary, the _Bulletin_.”

“They wouldn’t if they had any sense,” said the chief, scowling as he recalled his recent painful experience on the street. “But--ahem!--the public seems inclined to pay more attention to those confounded snapshots than you’d think, and I’ve got to do something to set myself right. That’s what I’ve come to see you about, Mr. Gale.”

“I guess that can be easily fixed,” said the editor, “I’ll run an editorial on the front page of to-morrow’s _Chronicle_, denouncing the _Bulletin_ for publishing those pictures. I shall refer to it as a pictorial outrage against decency and a disgrace to journalism.”

“That’s what it is, all right,” muttered the chief, with an approving nod; “but will the public look at it that way?”

“They will when they read in to-morrow’s _Chronicle_ why it was that you were asleep at your desk,” replied the editor, with a sly smile. “We’ll explain that our worthy chief of police, after being up all night for three successive nights in the pursuit of his official duties, was so tired out that he was unable to keep up any longer. Tired nature asserted itself, and he fell back in his chair in a state of collapse. And while he was in this condition--brought about solely by his devotion to duty and zeal to serve the public--the miscreant photographer of the _Bulletin_ sneaked in and made capital of the incident.

“I rather think that will do the trick, chief,” the elder Gale remarked. “When they read the _Chronicle_ to-morrow morning, the people of Oldham, instead of smiling at those pictures, will look upon you as a martyr.”

Chief Hodgins’ face lighted up. “The very thing!” he exclaimed enthusiastically. “It looks to me as if you’d hit the right idea, Mr. Gale, and I don’t mind telling you that if you print all that you’ll come pretty near telling the truth, too.”

“Have you caught the fellow who took the pictures yet, chief?” the editor inquired.

“No; the rascal got away,” Hodgins answered, with a scowl. “My men learned that he got out of town on a motor cycle, but they can’t find out where he’s gone. I guess he won’t dare set foot in this town again. He was certainly the nerviest camera fiend I’ve seen or heard of.”

The younger Gale pricked up his ears at these words. “Don’t happen to know his name, do you, chief?” he inquired, with great interest.

“Yes, I do, too,” Hodgins replied. “One of my detectives managed to find out that much from one of the printers who works for the _Bulletin_. The fellow’s name is Hawley, and he works for a New York newspaper.”

“I thought as much,” exclaimed young Gale, with a frown. “I heard on Park Row the other day that Hawley, of the _Sentinel_, was taking a vacation up in the Catskills. Too bad you didn’t catch him, chief, and send him to jail. I’ve no use for that fellow.”

“I’ll send him to jail, all right, if I ever manage to lay hands on him,” declared the policeman, a glint in his eyes.

“But can you?” the elder Gale queried. “Could you send him to jail, I mean, for taking those snapshots, even if you were to catch him? After all, my dear chief, he has violated no law. I was looking up the penal code a little while ago, and I find there is no statute which covers his case. I am afraid you couldn’t do anything to him--in a legal way.”

“Is that so?” exclaimed Hodgins, with a discomfited look. “Well, that’s certainly news to me, Mr. Gale. I thought for sure there was a law covering his offense. If there ain’t one, there certainly ought to be.”

“Say, that gives me an idea,” cried the younger Gale excitedly. “What’s the matter with getting the city council to pass an ordinance making it a misdemeanor punishable by six months’ imprisonment for any person to take a photograph on any street or in any public building of Oldham without a special permit signed by the chief of police? You fellows ought to have enough pull with the council to get such a law put through immediately.”

“An excellent plan!” declared the elder Gale. “Such an ordinance would not apply to past offenses, of course, but it would enable you, chief, to send this young scamp Hawley to prison if he ever comes back to Oldham and takes any more pictures.”

“Yes,” cried the younger Gale eagerly, “and you can rest assured that Hawley will come back to take more pictures. In fact, I’ve got a scheme to bring him back. Get that ordinance passed by the council, chief, and I’ll guarantee that you’ll have the satisfaction of seeing Mr. Hawley, of the _Sentinel_, behind bars. My little scheme is bound to work.”

He explained this scheme to his father and Chief Hodgins, and both of them gave it their enthusiastic approval.

“It’s a pippin!” declared the head of the Oldham police force joyously. “It’s easy to see, Mr. Gale, that your son is a chip of the old block when it comes to cleverness.

“We’ll put that ordinance through right away,” he went on. “I guess there won’t be any trouble in getting the council to pass it. And then, when the law’s on the books, we’ll set a little snare for that confounded Camera Chap. He’s sure to walk right into it.”