“Why? because I was the chap who was concerned in that little funny business.”
“The h—l you was! why, you don’t say so! really though?”
“Yes, sure. You see I was on the way home from the other side and was dead broke, and I just thought to myself, now here is a good chance. It was my first and last trial in the business, for the idea of robbing a country preacher broke me all up. Do you notice that I am now bald-headed?”
“Why, yes,” answered the parson; “what’s the matter?”
The man replied. “I was so disgusted with myself that I shed my hair all out on the way home.”
“Well, I’ll be doll garned!” exclaimed the parson. “Let’s go and take suthin’.”
And, by the way, this reminds me of another incident of a similar nature, where the principal actor could not resist good chance.
The robberies or attempts to rob became so frequent within a few miles of town, that it was very evident that the men engaged in the business were a part of the sporting class, with which the town at this time was filled. They would go up the road, leaving town late at night, and return before daylight. Many were suspected, but for want of evidence they could not be arrested. The sheriff, equal to the emergency, employed a man who had himself been in that business in some other quarter of the globe but who had reformed, to act as a spy or stool pigeon; to go out upon the road at night and endeavor to recognize some of these sporting chaps.
On the day following, an old gentleman complained at the sheriff’s office of having been stopped upon the road and robbed of quite a sum of money, and remarked that he believed that he could recognize the chap if he could see him, as it was not a very dark night. Just at this moment our stool pigeon, or highway detective, entered the door. The old gentleman took a good, square look at him, and exclaimed:
“There! There! That’s the chap who robbed me!”