Then Jesse went to see the woman, to tell her about her husband's death. He found her at a summer hotel with Mr. O. B., and heard the servants talk about them.
"Jim," said Jesse to me, at this point in the story, "here is wise council. Wherever thou goest, keep the portals of thy lugs open; as you wander on through life you are apt to hear slander about your women folks. What is more entertaining than a little scandal, especially when it doesn't hit home? But don't look into it too deep, for it generally turns out true, or worse. I laid a trap for my poor brothers wife, and one of her letters, making clear her guilt, fell into my hands. A telegram in reply from Mr. O. B., likewise came to me, and in a murderous frame of mind, I read its contents, and then laughed like a hyena: 'I am sorry I cannot meet you, but I was married this morning, and am going on my wedding tour. Au Revoir.' You ask me what became of my sister-in-law? Jim, she is young and pretty, and will get along in this world. But, truly, the wages of sin is to her Living Ashes."
It was not very long after my return home that I was at work again, not only at safe dipping and swindling, but gradually at all my old grafts, including more or less house work. There was a difference, however. I grew far more reckless than I had been before I went to prison. I now smoked opium regularly, and had a lay-out in my furnished room and a girl to run it. The drug made me take chances I never used to take; and I became dead to almost everything that was good. I went home very seldom. I liked my family in a curious way, but I did not have enough vitality or much feeling about anything. I began to go out to graft always in a dazed condition, so much so that on one occasion a pal tried to take advantage of my state of mind. It was while I was doing a bit of house-work with Sandy and Hacks, two clever grafters. We inserted into the lock the front door key which we had made, threw off the tumblers, and opened the door. Hacks and I stalled while Sandy went in and got six hundred dollars and many valuable jewels. He did not show us much of the money, however. The next day the newspapers described the "touch," and told the amount of money which had been stolen. Then I knew I had been "done" by Sandy and Hacks, who stood in with him, but Sandy said the papers were wrong. The mean thief, however, could not keep his mouth shut, and I got him. I am glad I was not arrested for murder. It was a close shave, for I cut him unmercifully with a knife. In this I had the approval of my friends, for they all believed the worst thing a grafter could do was to sink a pal. Sandy did not squeal, but he swore he would get even with me. Even if I had not been so reckless as I was then, I would not have feared him, for I knew there was no come-back in him.
Another thing the dope did was to make me laugh at everything. It was fun for me to graft, and I saw the humor of life. I remember I used to say that this world is the best possible; that the fine line of cranks and fools in it gives it variety. One day I had a good laugh in a Brooklyn car. Tim, George and I got next to a Dutchman who had a large prop in his tie. He stood for a newspaper under his chin, and his stone came as slick as grease. A minute afterwards he missed his property, and we did not dare to move. He told his wife, who was with him, that his stone was gone. She called him a fool, and said that he had left it at home, in the bureau drawer, that she remembered it well. Then he looked down and saw that his front was gone, too. He said to his wife: "I am sure I had my watch and chain with me," but his wife was so superior that she easily convinced him he had left it at home. The wisdom of women is beyond finding out. But I enjoyed that incident. I shall never forget the look that came over the Dutchman's face when he missed his front.
I was too sleepy those days to go out of town much on the graft; and was losing my ambition generally. I even cared very little for the girls, and gave up many of my amusements. I used to stay most of the time in my furnished room, smoking hop. When I went out it was to get some dough quick, and to that end I embraced almost any means. At night I often drifted into some concert hall, but it was not like the old days when I was a kid. The Bowery is far more respectable now than it ever was before. Twenty years ago there was no worse place possible for ruining girls and making thieves than Billy McGlory's joint on Hester Street. About ten o'clock in the morning slumming parties would chuckle with glee when the doors at McGlory's would be closed and young girls in scanty clothing, would dance the can-can. These girls would often fight together, and frequently were beaten unmercifully by the men who lived on them and their trade. Often men were forcibly robbed in these joints. There was little danger of an arrest; for if the sucker squealed, the policeman on the beat would club him off to the beat of another copper, who would either continue the process, or arrest him for disorderly conduct.
At this time, which was just before the Lexow Committee began its work, there were at least a few honest coppers. I knew one, however, that did not remain honest. It happened this way. The guns had been tearing open the cars so hard that the street car companies, as they had once before, got after the officials, who stirred up Headquarters. The riot act was read to the dips. This meant that, on the second offense, every thief would be settled for his full time and that there would be no squaring it. The guns lay low for a while, but two very venturesome grafters, Mack and Jerry, put their heads together and reasoned thus: "Now that the other guns are alarmed it is a good chance for us to get in our fine work."
Complaints continued to come in. The police grew hot and sent Mr. F——, a flyman, to get the rascals. Mr. F—— had the reputation of being the most honest detective on the force. He often declared that he wanted promotion only on his merits. Whenever he was overheard in making this remark there was a quiet smile on the faces of the other coppers. F—— caught Mack dead to rights, and, not being a diplomat, did not understand when the gun tried to talk reason to him. Even a large piece of dough did not help his intellect, and Mack was taken to the station-house. When a high official heard about it he swore by all the gods that he would make an example of that notorious pickpocket, Mack; but human nature is weak, especially if it wears buttons. Mack sent for F——'s superior, the captain, and the following dialogue took place:
Captain: What do you want?
Mack: I'm copped.
Captain: Yes, and you're dead to rights.