“Patience, I say, patience and astuteness will unravel any mystery,” continued Major Simpson, ignoring Josie’s remark. “You will remember, Mr. Burnett, that I said from the beginning that Miss O’Gorman was not what she seemed. You will grant me that, eh?” And thus did the old man talk on and on, seeming actually to feel that it was his cleverness that had caught the shoplifters.
The net had closed around the Kambourians—husband, wife and son. The search warrant revealed a great store of stolen articles, taken not only from Burnett & Burnett’s but from almost every shop in Wakely; dainty, choice articles, just the kind with which to stock a novelty shop, which had been Madame Kambourian’s ambition.
“We had only just acqui-r-r-ed enough things,” she wailed after she and her husband were sentenced to a term in the penitentiary. “And I would have been all moved and away if that bad, bad per-r-son had not warned the author-r-ities that I was planning to flit. Such a kind looking per-r-son too! But one nevair-r-e can tell who is false.”
Be it said in favor of Kambourian, the man, that his deepest concern was for “poor Mamma” and his chief regret that she should not have escaped.
“If she had only told us that the young lady had bought the paper in which the articles of value were twisted we would have been more careful,” he said to Jimmy Blaine, who interviewed him for the great soul stirring scoop. “She merely said the lace and things had been lost. We had no knowledge how and we did not question poor Mamma too closely because we are always so tender of her. She is so gay and we did so hate to make her sad. This beggar’s life was hard on poor Mamma—to sit all day and whine for pennies when she loved so to live and be happy. And clothes—ah mon Dieu, how poor Mamma does love to dress up—yes—yes—I, too, like the life. Ah me! All that is to be postponed—but perhaps—some day—”
The boy, Roy, was taken before the juvenile court where the wise young judge listened to all Josie had to tell him of the unfortunate environment in which he had been raised. She told of the conversation she had overheard through the open window and of the boy’s evident reluctance to proceed in the dishonest course mapped out for him by his parents.
“Yes,” the boy told the judge, “I have hated it always, but because I had the knack of mimicry and could pass myself off for a girl I was forced to wear those fool clothes and pretend I was ‘Miss Fauntleroy.’ I despised myself all the time, despised myself and began to despise them, I mean my mother and father, although they did love me and were always kind to me except that they made a thief of me. Of course if I was going to be a thief I determined to be the very cleverest thief in the business, and if it had not been for you, Miss O’Gorman, I believe I could have been. Anyhow I am glad it is all over and I’m going to be as straight now as I used to be crooked. All I want is a chance. Gee, I’m glad to be able to wear pants all the time! I never have been a sissy, and many is the time I felt like jumping in the river when I had to wear those silly skirts and picture hats. It was poor Mamma’s fault. Not that I blame her, for she did so want to have a nice little shop of her own and dress up in pretty things. She always said when once we got together enough things we would go into a real business and stop stealing. Poor Mamma! I wish I could do something for her.”
Josie thought that a prison term might do more for poor Mamma than anything else. At least it might teach her that honesty was the best policy for her to pursue in the future.
A chance was given Roy. The judge of the juvenile court sent him to an industrial school where it would be possible for him to work out his own salvation. He was as a brand snatched from the burning and, by God’s grace, snatched in time. Josie was sorry for the youth and Mary Leslie wept many tears in her pity.
“He was so handsome,” she sobbed.