The “indignant husband” game is a favorite one with adventuresses of the second class, by which term is signified such fair and frail creatures as occupy a somewhat lower place in the plane of rascaldom than the fairy who relies solely upon discreet blackmail without publicity for her means of support. This game is usually played upon very green persons for the reason that very few others would fall victims to it. The fair decoy makes the acquaintance of her quarry on the street, at a matinee or elsewhere. For the first interview she is on her good behavior, and by her repression of any approach to familiarity that her newly acquired friend may make she creates the impression that she is a very nice and decorous person indeed—a little disposed to flirt, that is all. She does, however, write him to call upon her and of course he does so—perhaps to-day, perhaps to-morrow, but he calls, anyway. By letting fall certain artful hints she contrives to let her victim know that she is a married woman. This of course lends an added spice of interest to the adventure. The idea of poaching on forbidden ground is attractive to the dupe. So an hour passes in pleasant converse, and in the natural course of events the Caller becomes sentimental. This much accomplished, he is hers, so to speak. At the very moment that the poor victim is congratulating himself upon his conquest there is a thundering knock at the door.
“My God!” screams the lady, with the dramatic intensity of a Bernhardt, “My husband!”
The startled fly in her net squirms in his seat. Who would not, situated as he is? “What is to be done?” he asks weakly.
“Hide! hide!” says the poor “wife” frenziedly and straightway rushes him into a convenient closet. The “husband” enters and, singularly enough, finds no difficulty in discovering the interloper’s hiding-place. He is gruffly ordered to come out and as like as not finds himself looking down the barrel of a big revolver.
Of course he is willing to make any sort of settlement in order to escape with a whole skin. If he has no currency the “husband’s” wounded “honor” will be healed with a check, although he would rather have his watch, seeing that the payment of checks can be easily stopped at the bank.
It must not be inferred from the foregoing that any peaceable gentleman who walks the streets is liable to be dragged by the nape of his neck into a compromising situation and compelled to disgorge all of his portable wealth at the point of a pistol. Far from it. He who walks the straight path of virtue is in no danger whatsoever. It is your frisky gentleman, who is out for a little lark and is reckless in his manner of carrying out the enterprise, who is likely to find himself in a snare. “Be good and you will be happy” is a maxim (modernized) that applies very handsomely to this sort of thing. “But you will miss lots of fun!” the frisky man may respond. Well, well, even so, but be very careful, for you know not how soon or how abruptly the languishing angel at your side may change into a fiery harridan, determined to have your money, your reputation or your life—whichever may suit her best.
Only a shade removed from the “indignant husband” game is the old “panel” enterprise, which is so very vulgar and simple in the manner of its operation that it would not be worthy of mention were it not for the author’s desire to warn strangers of every grade of intelligence against every possible danger that may lie in wait for him. Beware! O sportive young gentleman in search of a little diversion, of the young woman who on the shortest term of acquaintance invites you to accompany her to her flat or her boudoir, as the case may be. It may be that she has a pair of sharp scissors in her pocket with which she deftly snips off your money pocket; but failing this device, the “panel” is brought into play. While the interview between the more or less affectionate lovers is in progress a panel in the wall slides back, pushed by invisible hands, and a third person, the male confederate of the damsel, slinks through it into the apartment. The amount of plunder he secures depends entirely upon the degree of absorption with which the quarry is wooing his charmer and the progress that he has made in her affections, but however that may be he is tolerably certain to emerge a heavy loser. If the presence of the third party is discovered (and it is surprising how seldom this is the case) a fight is in order and the victim is fortunate if he escapes with only the loss of his valuables to mourn and no physical injury to lament.
It is a sorry subject and one is glad to leave it. Before doing so, however, remember one thing, and remember it very distinctly: No young lady, however irreproachable her appearance, who enters into a street flirtation, can safely be regarded as other than dangerous. Act on this suggestion and you will run no risks. In other words, “Be good and you will be happy.” A repetition of the maxim will do no harm.