Another house close by had been the home of Tom Beet, who murdered his wife by saturating her clothing with kerosene oil and setting fire to her body while she lay in a drunken stupor on the bedroom floor.
There was no high-toned moral element in the slums. Nobody made any pretense of being good. Every man, woman and child in the community knew that he was a sinner and recognized the fact that other people knew it too. "Oily Ike" Palmer, whose junk shop was the resort of thieves, and who acted in the capacity of a "fence" for all of them, together with Dave Beach, the horse trader and political boss of the ward, were the heroes of the community. "Oily Ike" was known to the police as a criminal, but although many offenses had been traced to his door, the evidence necessary to place him behind the bars was always lacking and he had never been convicted of a crime. He was also an opium eater and a drunkard, while it was said he had once held an honorable position in society. His vices had been the cause of his downfall, and at the time Superintendent Morton of the City Rescue Mission made his acquaintance he was a crafty, unscrupulous rascal, with the qualities of a beast of prey rather than those of a man.
Beach, the horse trader, sometimes called the "Mayor of Bucktown," was proprietor of a "Traders'" barn, a once prosperous livery stable on Brady Street. His place was a "growler joint," and was frequented by all the toughs and criminals in the neighborhood. In his own way, Dave was an autocrat of no mean power. When he O.K.'d a man, that man stood ace high; but when he said "Jiggers," everybody shut up like a clam. Beach was a bad man; but he had brains, and everybody paid court at his throne. It was said he could deliver the vote of Bucktown intact at election time, and there could be no doubt of the effectiveness of his pull with the authorities. He could drink more whisky, and stay sober, than any man in the community. If any one could whip him in a rough and tumble fight, the fact had not been demonstrated; and no one seemed anxious to establish it.
Gene Dibble, a good-natured, big-hearted fellow, worked in the
North Woods in the winter, but came to Bucktown every spring
to spend his money. He was a fine singer, and could dance the
Buck-and-wing, Turkey-in-the-Straw and the Rag like few men.
He was a favorite in Bucktown, and a warm friend of Dave Beach.
When it was noised about that Moore had sent for the "Mission Guy," as Morton was known in Bucktown, most of the neighbors waited for Beach to speak before they expressed any opinion. People had been sick and died before; but none had ever been so bold as to send for the mission man, and though they said nothing, some of Moore's best friends thought he must be out of his head.
The day following Morton's visit to the sick man little Jimmie stopped at Dave's barn and told a crowd of fellows who were present what had happened.
"Der main squeeze of der Rescue Mission was down ter our house last night, and he tol' Pa dat Jesus loves us and will give us anyting we wants. De doc says Pa is goin' ter die; but Pa tol' de Mission Guy he believed and now he's saved. He ain't goin' ter drink no more booze er nuthin'. We all belongs ter Jesus now, and He's goin' ter take care of us. Yer kin as't Him fer anyting yer wants, and if yer love Him and confesses Him you'll git it. Dat's wat der Mission Guy tol' Pa."
Although a favorite with the crowd that hung around the barn, Jimmie's little speech provoked a derisive laugh, and, catching the boy by the coat collar, Jewey Martin, an ex-convict, started to fire him out of the door with the advice to "chase himself." Before he had taken three steps Dave Beach had his great fist about Jewey's throat and had shoved him back into a corner.
"You let the kid alone. He's all right and knows what he's talking about. If you was more like that boy, mebbe you'd git to heaven sometime. You don't have to believe what he says if you don't want to, but you want to recollect what I tell you, that you better let him alone around here."
Some religious apologists might question the conversion of a boy of Jimmie's make-up; but among the people of Bucktown there was no doubt about his sincerity and his belief that Jesus loved him and heard and answered his prayers. With Dave Beach back of him he did not hesitate to repeat his story, and it was not long before every one about the market place had heard the tale from his lips.