“Because your predecessor in office here gave us the number, when we came here during the war to help the Secret Service run down that secret wireless of the Germans. I belong to the Camp Brady Wireless Patrol, sir.”
“You don’t say!” cried the Chief. “Of course I wasn’t in this district then, as you know, but I remember hearing about that matter. You boys were of very material assistance to the Secret Service then.”
“We were mighty glad we could help,” said Willie.
“You see, Chief,” said Sheridan, “I had reason for saying you would be glad to have the boy in the outfit. But I didn’t finish my story. I want you to know the rest of it. When this lad telephoned in and found it would not be possible for the office to send help, he decided he’d supply the help himself. I had on some old togs like a longshoreman, and the kid right away grasped the idea that his dolled up appearance would attract attention in a South Street booze joint. So he grabbed the first newsy he met, bought his old coat and cap, and dusted up his own good pants, so that he looked the part of a gutter-snipe all right. Then he trailed me to that hotbed of crookedness, Bill Dirkin’s oyster-house, and quietly slipped the message to me. And while we were in another of those joints last night, he used his ears to such good advantage that we landed that fellow Jensen, with his stolen cotton. That’s one we put over on the cops, and this lad is responsible for it.”
“I wish I could help you, my lad,” said the Chief kindly. “I wish I had a place for you in this office. But there isn’t a thing I can give you and I don’t see a chance of any opening.”
“Not even as an office boy?” cried Willie. His face became very sober and he looked so doleful that both his companions laughed.
“Don’t take it so hard,” said the Chief. “Boys who are really ambitious and really capable are so scarce that there’s always a chance for one somewhere. Now, I’m going to send you down to the office of Mr. William King, the Special Agent of the Treasury. He’s always having trouble with inefficient office boys. He told me so the other day. He may have a place for you.”
“But I don’t want to work for the Treasury Department,” protested Willie. “I want to become a Secret Service man.”
“The work is pretty much the same thing,” explained the Chief. “The Special Agent of the Treasury is particularly charged to look after the collection of import duties in the port of New York. He has to see that all just duties are collected. In short, his particular business is to prevent smuggling and all frauds against the customs revenue. And he has a force of special agents who are Secret Service men, under another name, to see that smuggling is prevented. This wool smuggling case really belongs to them, but their men have become so well known about the water-front that we handled it for them. We are all secret agents of the government and we work together if it is necessary, though the Secret Service proper now confines its attention mostly to preventing counterfeiting and frauds against national papers like Liberty bonds. We also guard the President and national guests.”
“Oh! I see,” replied Willie. “And do you think there might be a chance for me there?”