The old head nodded. “Yes, considering that you’re a detective who’s on the square. There’s not much chance for that sort, son,—not in this here widely advertised Christian civilization of ours. At least, not much chance to make a large private collection of coin.”
“I’m not in this primarily to make money. I thought you understood that.”
“You sure are a queer guy, son,” pronounced the old man. “I’ve heard you spiel off your ideas—you’re not primarily a thief-taker—you’re in this to help people out of the trouble. A hell of an idea for a detective!”
“You know as well as I do, Uncle George, that most of the people that get into trouble, or seem to be bad—well, they personally are not so much to blame. They’ve been born and raised in bad conditions—they’ve never had a chance—have never really been able to tell what was right or wrong, and have never had a chance to choose the right—”
“Come up for air, son,—come up for air,” cut in the old man. “Son, that’s nice music, but it’s all bunk. You’re an awful example of what a college education can do to a man. Now you just listen to your Uncle George. You know me—everybody knows me. I’ve been in about every crooked game known to the human race and the higher animals, including managing shows—and I’ve never been pinched because I was too clever for the coppers, and the coppers know it, too. I tell you I know life up and down and across the middle—and I tell you that we’ve all got a streak of crookedness—every damned one of us!”
“If that’s so,” smiled Clifford, “then why are you always helping crooks?”
“That’s just my human cussedness. I’ve retired from business—I’m one of these gentlemen farmers that have located on Broadway; but I don’t like to see any earnest young crook get a raw deal from the coppers, who are the rawest crooks of all.” The old man waved his left hand as though brushing such conversation aside. “But let’s get down to brass tacks—which means you and me. You and Bradley as great friends as ever?”
Despite himself Clifford flushed with chagrin. “Don’t try to be funny!”
“And, son, don’t be too sore. Bradley was one hell of a guy. He was the cleverest chief of detectives the Police Department ever had.”
“And the crookedest!”