Chapter III: Preface (3)

Speech is so common, eyesight so precious, that he who would appeal for charity needs no better warrant than that he is dumb or blind. In an age when words are multiplied and golden silence is seldom found, the very fact that lips can give no utterance is so unusual that their mute assertion of misfortune is seldom questioned. There is nothing so pitiful in all the world as an asylum for the blind. There is nothing which so draws one to share the burdens of another as the appeal of him in whom the wells of speech are all dried up. We sympathize with illness, we grieve at the misfortune which visits our friends, we mourn with them when bereavement comes, but all these things are in the course of nature. They are sad, but they may be expected. But then a figure in health rises and asks for charity in the hushed language of the mute, philanthropy halts and humanity gives alms. But if the dumb can evoke assistance, assuring of sincerity and disarming doubt, how hushed is the questioning when the blind apply! How much stronger than speech or silence are the sightless eyes that stare unblinking at a darkened world! How sad is the fate of that man who was buried by demons when God cried out, "Let there be light"!

But not every man is mute who stretches out his hand in silence. Laziness is such an awfully demoralizing vice that some who choose to beg a living and decline work are even base enough to feign a misfortune they ought to fear. Fellows who find the winter pinching and the ranks of vagabonds full to repletion arm themselves with a slate and pencil and haunt the public with appeals for help on the untrue claim that they are dumb. One of the most persistent beggars of this kind makes the rounds of residence districts with a printed card on which is stated the bearer's desire to reach his home in some distant city--the destination varies from time to time--together with a long-primer endorsement by a group of names which no one knows. The fraud always asks for some slight money offering--nothing can be too small--with which to assist him in the purchase of a ticket.

Usually his paper shows that he needs but a very little more, and he asks one, by a series of pantomimic signs, to enroll his name, together with the sum advanced, in regular order on a blank list which he tenders with his touching appeal. He is so well drilled as never to be surprised into speech, and looks with such straight, honest eyes into the faces of the women, who form much the larger number of his victims, that they cannot question him and usually give up a dime or a quarter without a struggle. The beggar can readily collect a good day's wages in this manner, and it is a matter of surprise if he does not receive an invitation to partake of food three or four times a day. He never lets his list get full. However small a margin he may lack of having raised the sum needed to buy his ticket to his home, he never gets quite enough, for nothing is easier than to stop in some secluded spot and erase the names of his latest donors, thus proving to those on whom he shall presently call that their help is not only needed, but will so nearly end the necessity for continued appeals. This class of beggar never looks like a dissipated man, is always polite, and bears refusal in so noble a way that nine times out of ten the flinty-hearted women who refused him at the back door hurry through to the front and give the more generously that they have harbored suspicion.

Another set of leeches have mastered the deaf mute language, and always ask with a pleading, painful face which meets you as your eyes lift from his written questions, if anyone in the house can talk with him. He supplements the penciled question and the eloquent glance of eyes trained by long use in the art with a few rapid passes of his hands, a few dexterous wavings of the fingers, in a language you have heard of and read about, but cannot understand. If the unexpected happens and a person be present who can converse with him, your beggar is sure of some entertainment, and the usual scene of one you know to be honest talking to one who may be equally so, and certainly seems needy, will almost infallibly wring from you the coveted assistance. It is like two minstrels at a Saxon court. You know your own has seen the holy land, though you have not, and as he tells you, this thread-bare guest talks familiarly and correctly of distant realms. That is all any one can know to a certainty, but you give him the benefit of the chance that he may be honest, and help him with such loose change as comes to hand. Time and again the pretended mutes have been detected in their imposture by men who pitied a misfortune and gave money at their homes in the morning to see it spent for drink by an arguing, contentious fellow in the evening.

Some beggars even assume the appearance of blindness, and haunt the homes of comfortable people, led by a little girl and asking alms in the name of an affliction that is always eloquent of need. He will sometimes carry a small basket full of pencils, or other little trinkets, and glazes over his evident beggary with the appearance of sales. But he does not hesitate, once the money is in his hands, to ask his patron to give back the pencils, as he cannot afford to buy any more. These people can sometimes see as well as the child that seems to lead them, and yet their eyes, when they choose to assume their professional attitude, seem covered with a film through which no light can penetrate.

The public should be chary in bestowing charity, and especially to able-bodied men who appear blind, deaf and dumb, or are still claiming to be victims of some recent disaster. Most any one who has charity to bestow can easily think of some deserving and honest unfortunate in their own neighborhood.

PARALYTIC A BAD ACTOR.

The most transparent fraud on the streets of the great cities is the pseudo-paralytic. At almost any street corner can be seen what purports to be a trembling wreck of a man. His legs are twisted into horrible shapes. The hand which he stretches forth for alms is a mere claw, seemingly twisted by pain into all sorts of distorted shapes, trembling and wavering. The arms move back and forth in pathetic twistings as if the pains were shooting up and down the ligaments with all the force of sciatica.

The head bobs from side to side as if it were impossible to keep it still. And the words which come from the half-paralyzed mouth are a mere mumble of inarticulate sounds, as if the tongue, too, were suffering torture.

A more pitiable sight than this could not be conjured up. And the extended hat of the victim of what seems to be a complication of St. Vitus dance, paralysis, sciatic rheumatism, and the delirium tremens, is always a ready receptacle for the pennies, nickels and dimes of the thoughtless. This is one side of the picture; now look on the other.

It is dusk. Just that time of day when the lights are not yet brightening the streets, and when the sun has made the great tunnels between the sky-scrapers, ways of darkness. Detective Wooldridge is watching. He has been watching two of the deplorable fraternity for two hours. As the dusk deepens he sees them both arise, dart swiftly across the street and board a car. By no mere chance is it that they are both on the same car. The detective follows. Before a low saloon on the West Side the victims of innumerable diseases descend from the car, walking upright as six-year soldiers on parade. They enter the saloon. They seat themselves at a table behind an angle in the back which conceals them from the street. The detective loiters down to the end of the bar and watches. From every pocket, even from the hat rim, pours a pile of coins.

The two sort out the quarters, the nickels, the pennies. The heaps are very evenly divided over two or three cheap whiskies or a couple of bottles of five-cent beer.

Then the real finale comes. Detective Wooldridge gets busy, and a goodly portion of the spoil finds its way out of the hands of the sharpers in the way of a fine.

But for every one of these paralytic frauds caught there are dozens, even scores, who get away unscathed. It is the estimate of the best detectives that not one in a thousand of these paralytic beggars is genuine. It is one of the most bare-faced cases of deception of the public which comes under the notice of the police.

EASY MONEY FROM KIND HEARTS.

Charity covers a multitude of sins, almost as many backs, and quite a bit of graft.

Thoughtless giving is almost a crime. It serve to encourage idleness, and idleness is at the bottom of more crime than any other one thing, unless it is poverty.

Here is a story, given in the words of the man himself, which shows how the charity graft is worked in a number of ways. It covers several fields, and is so dramatic that it is given as the best example of all-round charity grafting:

"In experience in charitable work last summer I discovered
some of these truths. It was the first time in all my life
that I ever engaged in any charitable enterprise, and the
needy that I sought to relieve was myself.

"Any one will beg, borrow, or steal in the name of charity.
They may be as personally honest as a trust magnate--and
they would be horrified at the idea of begging or stealing
for themselves, but charity makes them respectable. At
least this is the theory I worked on.

"I was broke and far from home. I decided that I would
starve or steal rather than beg. Then a fellow I met
accidentally put me on to a way of making a living.

FOR THE BENEFIT OF THE HEATHEN.

"He had a lot of literature either really from a big
church, charitable organization, or fraudulently printed,
and he explained to me that I was to sell these 25 cents
a copy for the benefit of the heathen somewhere, or home
missions. I was to get 25 per cent of the money resulting
from such sales.

"About a week later, when I had received $12 besides a
little expense money from him. I discovered that he was
keeping all the money. I took the rest of the literature
and destroyed it. Three days later, when I was hungry, I
rather regretted destroying it.

"I joined a circus that was moving toward my home town in
Western Iowa, intending to leave it there and quit being
a tramp. I was then down in Eastern Pennsylvania. I was a
canvas hand. We went west by a tortuous route, and I never
could accumulate enough coin to pay my way home, so was
forced to stick to the place for many weeks.

"The second week one of the canvas hands came to me and
asked me to circulate a subscription paper among the men
for the benefit of one Will Turner, a member of the band,
who, he said, had dropped off the train while running over
from the last stop, and badly injured himself.

GAVE THE MONEY TO CANVAS BOSS.

"I circulated the paper. The man told me he already had
collected from the band on another subscription paper, so
I needn't go to them. The man subscribed over $40 to help
Turner, and I gave the money and the paper to the canvas
boss who asked me to make the collection.

"He took it, and remarked gratefully that he would make it
all right with me. I didn't catch the significance of the
remark then. About a week after that the same canvas boss
came again with another subscription paper for the benefit
of John Kane, who, he said, was a gasoline lamp tender and
had been horribly burned and taken to the hospital. He told
me a graphic story of the accident that aroused all my
sympathy. I took the paper and worked hard on it during the
afternoon and evening performances, and, as it was the day
after pay day, I collected nearly $100.

WORKED THE GAME ONCE A MONTH.

"I got a shock when I took the money to the canvas boss. He
gave me $50 and said:

"'That's your share. We'll work it again next pay day.'

"Then I went at him, and we had quite a fight. We were both
arrested, and at the hearing next morning I learned that
he had been working the game with that same circus about
once a month. There were so many with the outfit and so
few of them knew each other by name, and accidents were so
numerous, that no one suspected him. He had grown afraid to
work it for himself and used me for a tool.

"The show had pulled out and the boss and two others who
had been arrested with us took the first train back to it.
I used the $50 to pay my fine and get home, where I found
work and honesty--and, as soon as possible, I sent to the
chief horseman with the show $50, to be added to the fund
for the benefit of the next person really hurt, telling him
the entire story. He wrote that he had been among those who
helped kick the canvas boss out of the car after he read my
letter."

IN NAME OF CHARITY.

There are probably more "touches" perpetrated in Chicago by professionals in the name of charity than under any other guise. In this matter, more of the protection of honest charities than for the protection of the public, the police have taken a hand and done a great deal to weed out and punish the solicitors for fake charities. An imaginary home for epileptics was one of the favorite plans. There was a home for this class of unfortunates that was honestly run, and the peculiar sympathy enlisted by the mention of the word epilepsy was seized upon by dishonest schemers. Professional women solicitors were garbed as "nurses" and sent forth. They were mostly austere-looking women and silent. Their work of nursing epileptics was supposed to produce this austere silence. This supposed charity appealed with uncommon strength to most people because these "nurses" were supposed to be performing the most unpleasant work imaginable amidst the most grewsome surroundings. Large sums were collected in this way, the promoter keeping everything above the liberal commission paid to solicitors.

THIS ONE MADE FORTUNE.

Rachel Gorman was the originator of the "nurse for epileptics" graft, and raked in thousands of dollars before she finally was rounded up by the police. Not one cent of all the money collected by her and her garbed and hired solicitors ever got past their pockets. In this case the most shining marks were selected. William Jennings Bryan was touched for $100. as was the Governor of Illinois, and many others. This money for imaginary epileptics came so easily that the Gorman woman confessed that it was almost a shame to take it.

There is little excuse, however, for Chicago men and women allowing themselves to be talked out of money for charity. In no great city are the charity working forces better organized or better known. For virtually every form and case of need there is in Chicago a distinct form of honest, well-organized charity. This condition grew out of necessity, and promiscuous giving to "touchers" who plead as qualification charity cases is dying out as the public comes to know more of the comprehensive systems for the help of the worthy and unfortunate.

It took the hotel detectives years to check the "toucher" with the fake bank account that operated largely in the hotel lobbies. Now he works in other places. He carries a bank book that has all the superficial marks of genuineness. He engages you in conversation, and at what he considers the right psychological moment, he drops a feeler like this:

"It's h---- to be without money when you've got plenty, isn't it?"

If you have met this type of "toucher" before, you instantly see it coming and chase off to a most important engagement. If not, you only can agree. Being without money when you have none is bad; being broke when you have money is worse.

"Look here," says the "toucher," "here is my bank book. Look at this balance?"

OFTEN WORTH THE PRICE.

A glance seems to show that the bank owes your new acquaintance many thousands. He then tells how it happened, how he came to be without a cent when he was so far to the good with his banker. It's a complicated tale, too long to tell here. There are lost letters, the cashing of checks for friends and, confidentially, a touch of the pace that flattens bank accounts. By this time you see your finish. When you seek to escape you find yourself backed up to the wall with no chance to sidestep. The best you can do is to scale the original touch from $1 to 50 cents, thereby making 50 cents for yourself and 50 cents for the "toucher."

To "stand for" all the "touches" that are made in Chicago one would require an income far in excess of that enjoyed by most. Those that are responded to are those in cases where the donor generously thinks that the "toucher" really needs the money. Probably in the vast majority of cases there is no delusion as to the fiction woven in order to drag forth the nickel, the dime, the quarter or the dollar. Often it is worth the price to hear the fiction.

But after all one feels refreshed when a frank but hoarse and trembling hobo says:

"Say, Mister, me t'roat is baked and me coppers sizzlin'. Gimme de price of a drink. Did you ever feel like jumpin' from de bridge fur lack of a stingy little dime fur booze?"

Here, you feel, is no misrepresentation. Here you may invest a dime without feeling that you have been stung.

RAFFLES BANK ROBBERY.

One of the most annoying of small grafts is the raffle, as conducted for gain. It is bad enough to be held up for 25 cents or 50 cents for a ticket which entitles you to a chance on a rug or a clock when you reasonably are sure that the proceeds will go to charity, but no man likes to be fooled out of his small change by a cheap grafter, even if the grafter happens to need the money.

A story is told of two printers who lived for a month on a cheap silver watch which they raffled off almost daily until they had "worked" nearly all the printing offices of any size in town. These typographical grafters are unworthy of the noble craft to which they belong. They pretended to be jobless on account of last year's strike, and unable to live with their families on the money furnished by the union.

HOW SKIN RAFFLE IS WORKED.

During the noon hour, or about closing or opening time, one of the men would saunter into a composing room and put up a hard luck story. He had an old silverine watch that he wanted to raffle off, if he could sell twenty tickets at 25 cents each. He usually managed to sell the tickets.

About the time the drawing was to take place the confederate entered and cheerfully took a chance and won the watch without any difficulty. Thus, they had the watch and the $5 also. They would split the money, and on the first convenient occasion the raffle would be repeated at another place, and by some trick known to themselves the drawing was manipulated so that the confederate always won the watch.

A South Side woman recently had 500 raffle tickets printed, to be sold at 10 cents each, the drawing to be on Thanksgiving day, for a "grand parlor clock," the proceeds to be for the benefit of a "poor widow." As the woman herself happens to be a grass widow, and as the place of the drawing could not be learned, neither could there be obtained a sight of the clock, it is not difficult to guess the final destination of $50 for which the tickets were sold.

POPULAR GAME IN SALOONS.

At many saloons and cigar stores there is a continuous raffle in progress for a "fine gold watch." It is well for those who buy chances to inspect the time piece with a critical eye. One of these watches was submitted to a jeweler by the man who won it. "It's what we call an auction watch," said the expert. "It is worth about 87 cents wholesale. The case is gilded, and the works are of less value than the movement of a 69-cent alarm clock. It was keep time until the brass begins to show through the plate, and it may not."

One of the attractive forms of the raffle ticket game is valuing the tickets at from 1 cent up to as high as desired. The man who buys a chance draws a little envelope containing his number. If he is lucky and draws a small number he is encouraged to try again. This is a sort of double gamble, and many men cannot resist the temptation to speculate upon the chances, simply in order to have the fun of drawing the little envelopes.

Of course, many of the raffles are for cases of genuine charity, and it is an easy way to raise a fund for some worthy object. Many a person would not accept an outright gift, even in case of sickness or death, will permit friends to raffle off a piano or a bicycle for a good round price in order to obtain a fund to tide him over an emergency. To buy tickets for this kind of a raffle is praiseworthy.

RAFFLE IS LOTTERY BY LAW.

But sharpers are not above getting money by the same means. If a strange man, or a doubtful looking woman, wants to sell you a chance for the benefit of "an old soldier," or a "little orphan girl," or a "striker out of work," it might pay you to investigate.

But here is where the easy money comes in for the sharper. It is too much trouble to investigate, and the tender-hearted person would sooner give up the 10, 25 or 50 cents to an unworthy grafter than to take chances of refusing to aid a case of genuine need.

Then, too, there is what might be called a sort of legitimate raffle business. Of course, the raffle is a lottery under the law, and, therefore, is a criminal transaction. But in many cases goods of known value, but slow sale, are disposed of through raffles, and the drawings conducted honestly. A North Side man disposed of an automobile in this way. It had been a good wagon in its day, though the type was old. He wanted to get a new one, and as the makers would not allow him anything in exchange for the old. He sold raffle tickets to the amount of $500, and the winner got a real bargain--the losers paying the bill.

RAFFLES THAT ARE STEALS.

A group of young men who wanted to build themselves a little club house in the Fox Lake region, resorted to a raffle that was almost a downright steal. They had the printer make them tickets, and each one went among his friends and organized a "suit club," selling chances for a $30 tailor-made suit. Of course those who invested understood that the suit probably would be worth about $18, but they were satisfied to help build the club house on that basis, and besides they thought they had a fair chance to get the suit.

It was learned afterward by accident that there were twenty "series" of tickets sold by these young men, and instead of each series standing for a suit, only one drawing was held, and only a single suit made for the entire twenty series of tickets. In other words, they sold $500 worth of tickets for a $30 suit of clothes. They built their club house, however, and laughed at the man who kicked because he thought he did not get a square deal for the half dozen tickets he bought. They thought it was a good joke.

GRAFT OF TRAIN BUTCHER EASY.

In these days if anything gets past the up-to-date train butcher it isn't because the public knows any more than it did in Barnum's time. We get a customer every minute by the birth records.

For a genuine, all-round, dyed-in-the-wool separator of coin from its proud possessor, the train butcher is the limit. Here is a word for word story by a train "butch" of how the thing is done. He excuses his tactics much the same way that the little rogue does who points out that the giant malefactors are doing the same thing, but "getting away with it." Enter Mr. Butch.

"I got back yesterday from a two days' trip--out and in.
I had $29.65 to the good, and the company satisfied, and
nary a kick from the railroad. At one little place down the
line, though, a railroad detective got aboard and tried to
detect.

"'Say, young feller,' he said to me, 'I saw you go through
here yesterday lookin' pretty spruce, and I thought I'd
better take a look through yer grips as you came back. What
yer got in there?'

"He kicked my grip, and I opened her up on the minute. He
went through it like an old goat through a cracker barrel,
but he didn't find anything--see? If he'd looked under the
cushion of a seat in the smoker he might have found a whole
lot of stuff that didn't look like a prayer meeting layout.

WHAT WAS HIDDEN UNDER SEAT.

"Say, I bet I had fourteen $2 gold watches, twenty
gold-rimmed spectacles that cost me 15 cents apiece, one
dozen books, tightly sealed in wrappers, that looked mighty
interesting to the jay who couldn't see into the books, and
yet who had to do it finally at $2 apiece, and, as a topper
of it all, my three-book monte game. Did you ever see the
game?

"I've got a line of wild west books about two inches
thick, each, and costing me 40 cents a volume. They've
got some great pictures on the cloth covers, and maybe
there's some hot stuff inside--I don't know. But here's my
unparalleled offer: I pick out my man and lay these three
volumes across his knees in the car seat and go after him
with some of the warmest kind of air about their interest,
the binding, and the illustrations.

"You pay me for the set," I explain, "but in doing it I
give you a chance to get the books for nothing and at the
same time double your investment.

HOW THREE BOOK MONTE IS PLAYED.

"I take out three small, thin spelling books, cloth bound,
all alike as the bindery and the presses can make them.
Then, careless like, I take a $10 bill out of my pocket,
fold it across in a sort of V-shape and slip it into the
middle of one of the spelling books, so that just one
corner will stick out, probably a quarter of an inch. Of
course, I haven't seen it! Sometimes the man on the cars
will try to say something about it, but I cut in and drown
him out with easy talk till he gets the idea that he might
as well have that ten and the books for five, and let it go
at that.

"But one corner all the time is torn off that bill, and
about a quarter of an inch of that bill is sticking out of
the center of one of the other books. Of course the jay
hasn't seen that!

SHOWS CORNER OF BILL.

"Well, I begin and shuffle the books on the payment of the
$5. As they are shuffled the corner of the bill that is
still attached gets turned around next to me, while the
corner that is torn off gets around next to the passenger,
whom I have cornered in the seat in a way that he can't see
everything that he really ought to see in order to save his
money. When I hold out the three books for the drawing I am
in a position where I couldn't possibly see the corner that
sticks out, while he is where he can't see anything else.

"And he draws the book with the corner sticking out!

"I take it from him instantly, and hold it up with the bill
corner at the bottom, flipping the leaves through from
front to back and forward again. In the act the corner of
the bill drops out on the floor, where he doesn't see. 'Not
here,' I says. 'You made a bad draw. Here's the bill,' I
says, taking up the book that holds it and turning to the
$10 bill, just where it lies. He doesn't know how it all
happened, but I console him that he has the three wild west
books for his library when he gets home.

ALL SUCKERS NOT IN DAY COACHES.

"I don't find all these suckers in the day coaches--not on
your life. I found two pretty boys in the smoking room of a
sleeping car a week ago, and I had $7.50 from one of them
and $5 from the other, and they didn't know a line about it
till they got together after I had gone.

"Friends of mine have kicked because I get $2, or $3, or
$4 apiece for gold-rimmed spectacles that cost me $1.80
a dozen. But where is the kick. I know men who have paid
$10 or $15 for glasses from an oculist when the glass was
cut out of a broken window pane. I save such people money,
don't I?

"I am not out after the old farmer with hayseed in his hair
and leaf tobacco in his mouth, chewing. There are a lot
of gay chaps traveling these days who think they've got
the bulge on the train butcher by a sort of birthright or
something. They are after me, sometimes, till I can't go to
sleep after I come in from a run. For instance, the other
day a chap got into the train out of a little country town,
intending to go to another little town twenty miles away
without change of cars. He had $2 cash and a guitar when he
got on the train, but I had both when he got off. He wasn't
mad at all; he just didn't understand it. For that reason
I'll see him again one of these days, and he will buck the
game harder than he did the first time. The trouble is he
wants to vindicate himself; he's one of these smart alecs
that you couldn't down with a crowbar--he don't think!

COUNTRY TOWN "SPORT" EASIEST MARK.

"Just give me the dead-game sport as he comes from the
country and the country town. He's as good as I want. It's
a sort of charity to take his money away from him before
he gets into real trouble with it. One of them thought he
had me the other day when I tried to sell him a pair of my
famous $4 glasses with the gold rims. His had silver, only,
but he told me mine wouldn't show a full moon after dark.

"I asked him to let me see his specs and he handed them
over. I had a bit of wax out of my ear on the tip of my
little finger. I touched each of the glasses with the wax,
smearing them a little with it. That fixed his glasses for
good, and don't forget it. You can't get ear wax off a
pair of spectacles with anything yet invented; it's got a
sort of acid that eats into the glass and won't ever clear
up again. The fellow got hot about it, but I didn't know
anything, of course, and finally sold him a pair of my
$1.80 a dozen glasses for $1.50 cash, net.

"O, some people are almost too easy--I get ashamed of my
calling!"

WOMEN VICTIMS OF OLD COUPON SCHEME.

There is another moss-grown swindle, which, like hope, seems to "spring perennial" in the greater cities.

This is the old-time coupon swindle. A suave young man appears at the door, inserts his foot in the crack, if you try to slam it in his face, and rapidly begins to explain that he has something to offer you for nothing. The housewife sighs with resignation, and admits the suave young man, thinking that she might as well get it over. But let the housewife herself talk. Here is the story of a good woman who was caught by one of these pettifogging grafters:

"Since my husband died I have partly earned my living by
renting furnished rooms. This seems to be the first thing
a woman thinks of doing when she is left unprovided for,
but it isn't a business of large profits, and few of us
ever cut 'melons.' My furniture, of course, represented my
'plant,' and it was growing shabby.

"That is, perhaps, why the glib agent got a hearing from
me. He had a lovely proposition. Opening a catalogue he
showed me pictures of beautiful pieces of furniture, made
from expensive materials, just the kind that would make my
rooms attractive and easy to rent.

"'Now,' said he, 'I am soliciting subscriptions for a weekly
paper. This paper will cost you 10 cents a number, and with
each number you get a coupon. When you have accumulated
sixty-eight coupons you can bring them to our wareroom and
select any one of these elegant pieces of furniture.'

"'Why,' said I, 'if these articles are as represented, I
couldn't buy them at any store in town for three times what
sixty-eight coupons would cost me--$6.80.'

THE OLD "WAREROOM" TALE.

"'Call at our wareroom, lady, before you sign the contract,
and you will see they are just as described.'

"Well, I saw the articles, and they were all they were said
to be. They explained that they were practically giving
them away in order to build up the circulation of the
paper. Everything appeared to be all right, and I signed
a contract. So did my widowed sister; so did some of my
neighbors.

"The paper was worthless, but I didn't care. Sometimes I
would buy several copies of one issue so as to make haste
toward getting my sixty-eight coupons. The time came when
I went around to select my furniture. I selected it, all
right--a handsome chiffonier.

"'This chiffonier calls for 360 coupons,' said the man.

"'Why, your agent told me I could have any of these pieces
when I had accumulated sixty-eight coupons,' said I,
dismayed.

"'He couldn't have told you that,' said the man. 'Read
your contract. You will see it says that when you have
sixty-eight coupons you may select any one of these
articles, but that means we will then hold the article for
you until you have paid the rest. Why, we have goods here
that call for 600 and 700 coupons.'

"I saw how I had been swindled, and was furious. I told him
what I thought of him and his business, and he offered to
tear up my contract (which, it turned out, bound me to more
than I had dreamed of), if I would pay him an additional
$2.50. I refused. He said he would sue me if I didn't. I
told him to go ahead.

"Shortly afterward a constable served a summons on me to
appear at a justice court at the other end of creation.
I didn't go; and I don't know whether the concern got a
judgment against me or not.

"But I do know I haven't anything to show for the money I
paid for those coupons."

BOOK LOVERS EASY PREY OF FRAUDS.

BOGUS ART WORKS FINE GRAFT.

Some of our citizens are paying a high price for education in art and book swindles. People, generally, are becoming experts in detecting small frauds and attacks upon their pocketbooks, and are becoming wise to pious dodges that run into spiritualism, clairvoyance and fortune telling, but when a large, smooth scheme is broached, they get caught. It may be that we have concentrated our minds upon so many trifling schemes to part us from our money, that we have laid ourselves bare to big operators in big frauds like that perpetrated upon the Patten family of Evanston. The clever fakir reached for $40,000 in an "old book" game and came very near gathering in the pot. He did get $2,600, which was a very neat job.

It appears that there is a wide-spread system under the operations of which Chicago book lovers, and others all over the country, have been bilked out of a sum estimated at hundreds of thousands of dollars. The same system is applied to paintings by the "old masters," for which some Chicago men have paid fabulous sums, only to find them imitations. The expert frauds are geniuses in their peculiar calling, and would deceive the elect if listened to. A bright, smart, well groomed man with letters of introduction from high quarters, often forged, perhaps with a title, breaks into society and bides his time to make a big haul. The vanity and foibles of the high-steppers and nobility worshipers are pandered to with masterly skill, and then a mere suggestion of untold values in books or paintings is breathed in secret. Do the big fish bite? Some of them swallow the bait and it has to be cut out of them before they will give it up. It is becoming so easy to gull some people, that the crime should consist in the betrayal of innocence rather than in the successful fraud. While guillible people continue to parade their guillibility to the world, there will always be frauds to take advantage of them. If anybody doubts the fact that people can be easily defrauded, let him visit any old book store, antique furniture dealer, oriental rug concern, even junk shops. He will find an amazing army of faddists, who are willing to pay any exorbitant price for some cheap fraud because a gentlemanly man, or an opium-smoking Chinaman, tells him it is the real thing. When business is dull at the shops, agents visit front doors, back doors, or invade society with some bogus job of "art" works and realize enormous sums.

MISERABLE LITTLE SHORT MEASURE THIEVES.

In the Municipal Court in South Chicago three extremely mean swindlers have been fined $25 and costs. It is unfortunate that they could not have been sent to the Bridewell without the alternative of paying the fine.

For these swindlers were coal dealers who robbed the poor that bought coal by the basket. They STOLE money from their customers, just as the short-measure milk trust conspirators robbed their patrons. We repeat that they ought to be in the Bridewell.

Giving short measure is the dirtiest, smallest, most cowardly form of commercial rascality. The hold-up man who takes his life in his hand and robs on the public highway is a model of decency and courage as compared with the pitiful rascal who steals the pennies of the poor by selling coal or milk or any other necessity of life by short weight.

Short weight is larceny. It ought to be treated as larceny by law.

CRIME A FINE ART.

Living by one's wits has become a fine art, and it is a profession that is more liberally patronized than any other by the present generation. One of America's leading detectives remarked that there were about seventy-five thousand people in a city the size of Chicago that would bear watching. There isn't a bank, insurance office, dry goods store, restaurant or hotel that does not employ men to watch their customers, and there is hardly a business house in the country that has not some system of watching its employes. Everybody at this day seems to be afraid of everybody else.

Professional criminals pride themselves quite as much upon their ability as men engaged in legitimate occupations. A thief, for instance, is as vain of his superiority over other thieves as a lawyer, politician, or clergyman might be whose talents had elevated him to a commanding position in the eyes of the people. And the talented thief is as much courted and sought after as the successful man in the honest walks of life. The other thieves will say: "He is a good man to know; I must make his acquaintance." But the thief who has earned a reputation is particular about the company he keeps, and is scornful in his demeanor toward another thief whom he does not consider his professional equal. Caste exists among criminals as well as among other classes.

Men and women who are not living merely for today must be deeply interested in the efforts which practical philanthropists are making to discover the causes of crime and to remedy the mischievous conditions which now prevail to such an alarming extent. Hidden away to a considerable degree in the great mass of figures which came into being through the operations of the census bureau, are facts that should shock every good citizen. With all the warmth of eulogy the story of wonderful progress has been told again and again, but only a few references have been made to the abnormal growth of what may be termed by the criminal class. Forty years ago there was but one criminal to 3,500 good or reasonably good citizens. According to the last census the proportion was one in 786.5, an increase of 445 per cent in a period during which the population increased but 170 per cent. Never in the nation's history has educational work of all descriptions been nearly so active as at present, yet the increase in the number of those who were confined in penitentiaries and jails and reformatory institutions is almost twice as rapid as the growth of population.

CITIES BREEDING SPOTS OF CRIME.

The true explanation of this unsatisfactory state of things is not far to seek. It is almost entirely to be attributed to the growing tendency of the community to become concentrated in large cities. A highly concentrated population fosters lawless and immoral instincts in such a multitude of ways that it is only an expression of literal exactitude to call the great cities of today the nurseries of modern crime. Statistics of all kinds show this, but it can easily be ascertained without the aid of any figures. The aggregation of large multitudes within a very limited area must increase the chances of conflict, and consequently multiply the occasions for crime.

A population in this crowded condition has also to be restrained and regulated at every turn by a huge network of laws, and as every new law forbids something which was permitted before, a multiplication of laws is inevitably followed by an increase of crime.

The prevention of crime should be the great object with the philanthropist. The obvious remedy is, if possible, to aid the individual in overcoming the temptation to evil or to crime. The remedy must be general, gradual, and constant. It consists in religious, moral, intellectual, and industrial education of the children, especially of the poor and unfortunate and the weakling classes. The most certain preventive is the early incarnation of good habits in children, which, becoming part and parcel of their nervous organization, are an unconscious force when passion, perplexity, or temptation tend to make them lose self-control. Little can be expected from palliative remedies for social diseases so long as this educational remedy is not thoroughly carried out.

AMERICA'S EDUCATED CRIMINAL CLASS.

The great mass of the American people, aside from those who have had experience in hunting and shadowing criminals, labor under the popular delusion that the most daring criminals of today are a lot of tough, ignorant men, with little or no education at all, who would do almost anything else than work honestly for a living. If people would but stop to consider the subject a moment they would readily discover their error. There are, it is true, a large number of swindlers, thieves, pickpockets, thugs and criminals of a like class who have but a scant knowledge of books, or literature, but they are only to be found among the lower class of criminals. The most notorious criminals the world has ever produced have been men and women of high culture and refinement, well educated and thoroughly posted on all that is transpiring. It is this class of people who make the most successful, and at the same time most dangerous, criminals. It requires men of education to swindle, crack a safe, rob a bank, jewelry store or forge a paper. To be a successful confidence operator requires the man to be well educated in matters of all kinds, to be a fluent talker, a person of refinement and polite address, and a good judge of character.

REFINED CRIMINALS MOST DANGEROUS.

Criminal history shows that the most successful jobs are always planned and executed by men of education; the details of some of the great forgeries that have taken place, of the numerous bank robberies and burglar's exploits, all go to show the direction of a brain of no ordinary person, being proof positive that the persons planning the work possessed both education and talent. First class criminals are exceedingly hard to cope with, and are the most dangerous to handle by the officers. They do not generally do things in a rush or by halves. Great care is given to all the minor details of their work, and it often takes weeks and months before they are ready to put their plans into operation. They study all the possibilities of the job; the chances of success, and the way of escape in case of failure; how they can cover all traces of the work and throw the guilt or suspicion upon the more unfortunate of their class who have had reputations and who are likely to be brought up and possibly convicted on suspicion of being the guilty parties. Educated crooks are always to be feared, not only by the public against whom they are constantly devising ways and means to relieve of their valuables, but by detectives of a lesser grade. This class of crooks do not hesitate to sacrifice the detective if their desired ends can be successfully accomplished, while the detective finds it a task of no little moment to gain even the faintest clue to their operations.

PRISON POOR CURE FOR CRIME.

Locking a man up for committing a crime does not always cure him. It is now proven that affixed penalties to certain crimes accomplishes practically nothing, for it is based on a wrong principle. The length of confinement ought, confessedly, to be adjusted to the needs of the prisoner. He should not be discharged from his moral hospital until there is reasonable assurance that he is cured. He certainly should not be turned loose on society, on the mere expiration of a formal sentence, when it is known he will begin anew on his old life. Protection to society, as well as the reformation of the criminal, call for the retention of the latter until he can be trusted with his liberty, and affords proof that he is fitted to take his place in the world as a useful, law-abiding citizen. This system alone permits the fullest scope to reformatory methods, and leaves to the court the right of sentencing indefinitely, and to the tribunal which has to do with the prisoner's release, to say when there is reasonable ground for faith that if discharged he will not prove either a burden or menace to society. Where conduct and character afford no such grounds he should be incarcerated for life, just as we would retain hopeless lunatics in asylums.

MACONOCHIE'S EXPERIMENT.

This form of sentence was first put into operation in a modified form by Maconochie, at Norfolk Island, in 1836, with a success in the way of reformatory results from the start which was unequalled. Now the best authorities in penology in all countries not only commend it, but the opinion is fast becoming general that it is a necessary feature in every reformatory system of prison discipline. Of course it implies in prison management the highest wisdom and integrity, and especially the banishment of partisan politics therefrom. It makes the dominant idea of prison administration manhood-making, and not money-making.

FACES PORTRAY CHARACTER.

Every one knows that men's passions, propensities, and peculiarities, as well as their calling, are reflected in their faces.

It is as impossible to disguise a face as a handwriting. When the expert comes the disguise is torn off and the face tells the true story of the spirit inside the body. One only needs to visit the penitentiary to realize how undeniably vice writes its sign manual on the features. It is not the drunkard only whose red nose, flabby cheeks and rheumy eyes betray him; it is the senualist whose vice is read in his lips, the knave whose propensity is revealed in the shape of his mouth; the man of violence is surrendered by his eyes. An experienced detective policeman, or a trained jailer seldom needs to ask the crime of which the prisoner was guilty. He can tell it by his face.

It is quite evident that in the future the study of physiognomy is going to be pursued more vigorously than it has been. As a means of preventing crime it may prove invaluable. How constantly do we hear of men "falling from grace," as the phrase goes. Yet these men must have carried their crime in their faces for a long time. If any one had been able to read their features the mischief might have been averted. It is well known that every man's face is more or less stamped by the pursuit he follows. An experienced observer can generally detect a lawyer, or a doctor, or a merchant, or a clerk, or a mechanic, or a clergyman, by merely studying his face.

The instinctive criminal is a social parasite. The conclusion is irresistible that he is organically morbid. He will proceed to any extreme, and life and property, separating him from the accomplishment of his wishes, are but barriers to be overcome. The occasional criminal is largely a negative creature, who yields himself when temptation and the stimulus of opportunity exceed his resistive power. The habitual and professional criminal represents degree rather than kind. Criminality is to him a profession, a fine art, and susceptible of division into specialties.

CRIMINAL HEADS NOT EXTRAORDINARY.

The average heads of criminals and those of ordinary people probably do not vary much in size. A large brain does not necessarily indicate great intelligence any more than a small one mental deficiencies, this being true, as little importance can be attached to the weight of brains of criminals. The weight of Oliver Cromwell's brain was 82.29 ounces; Lord Byron's, 79 ounces; Cuvier's, 64 ounces; Ruloff's (a thief and murderer), 59 ounces; adult idiot's, 54.95 ounces; Daniel Webster's, 53.50 ounces, and Gambetta's, that of the size of a microcephalic idiot.

A face may either attract or repel; its lines indicate firmness and decision, or weakness and sensuousness. In physiognomy may be traced fineness or brutality, surfeit or privation, gentleness or irascibility; yet from a consideration of the face it is assuming too much to predicate the form of criminal tendencies, if any, on the subject. Criminal physiognomy is not yet an exact science. The practical criminologist regards criminality as bred in the bone and born in the flesh, and the ethology of crime to be looked for chiefly is in heredity and environment, using the word environment in its most liberal sense, ante and post-natal, and whatever cause, in whatever way, that exerts a deleterious influence upon nutrition and the functions of organic life, voluntary and involuntary.

Little is being done in this country in criminal anthropology that can compare with the studies and researches that are being carried on in Italy, France, and Germany. The student unacquainted with the language of these countries pursues his studies at a disadvantage, owing to the paucity of literature in English upon the subject.

The tide of crime is steadily rising. The level of criminality, it is well known, is rising, and has been rising during the whole of the Nineteenth and Twentieth centuries, throughout the civilized world. Its prevention and cure is a perplexing study, and is engaging the thoughts and energies of the best intellects of the world.