If I were inclined to indulge in reminiscences, what a catalogue could be given of men who had, like myself, drifted into the Primrose Way, and all, or nearly all, have paid a terrible penalty for their wrongdoing—none more terrible than myself. As for our violin virtuoso, he seems to have conquered fate. So, too, with the connoisseur in orchids; but let us wait until the end before we say all is well with them.
Some time later on, meeting one of these detectives, now dead, who then ranked as the best in New York, in the confidence of the bankers, he said: "I am getting old and am now working for reputation, and consequently am not taking any more percentages. Of course, I don't molest any of my old friends, but those who are not under protection I run in and send them up the river (Sing Sing) as fast as I get them to rights."
This need not be considered a condemnation of all detectives, for there were, even in my time, a few honest ones of the Pinkerton and John Curtin class—the latter being now one of San Francisco's most reliable, who, by unusually considerate judgment, has made honorable citizens of a very large number of clerks whom he had been called upon to detect and arrest. This he accomplished by extracting a confession in writing, filing it among his secret papers, then saying to the trembling clerk: "I shall have you reinstated in your position, but if you go wrong again this confession will be made public."
The following incident will further enlighten the reader as to the way things were done in those good old days:
When Boss Tweed was in the full zenith of his power and glory and of the wealth so easily acquired by certain methods, his daughter was married. All of the then chiefs and district officers of Tammany, city officials, judges and heads of departments vied with each other in the presentation of wedding gifts, among which was a check for $100,000 from the father. Seldom has any bride received a more magnificent tribute, for, coming from such sources, they were nothing less than a tribute. Especially was this the case with one much-admired gift which was contributed by us just after an illicit operation of $40,000 in Wall street, $4,000 of which was paid to Irving.
In the column list of wedding gifts in the next morning's papers was: "One solid silver punch bowl, value $500, presented by Superintendent Kelso." Shortly after paying Irving the $4,000 percentage we met him one evening at the St. Cloud Hotel. Mentioning the approaching Tweed marriage, he suggested that it would be the thing, and make us more solid with the Superintendent of Police, for us to make a fine present to "the old man," one that he could use as a gift to the bride. As $500 was not much to our party in those days, we assented, and handed over that amount.
Tiffany's was then located down Broadway, and among other things on exhibition in the window was a large, handsome silver punch bowl. This was purchased with our money, which was known to have been obtained by forgery, and presented to Superintendent Kelso. A few days later the bowl reappeared in the window of Tiffany's thus inscribed:
TO CATHERINE TWEED.
Presented by