Although he now had four snapshots of delinquent policemen, and Carroll again pleaded that these were quite sufficient for their purpose, the Camera Chap was firm in his determination not to give up the hunt until the Bulletin’s collection consisted of at least six negatives.
Parsons had reached his limit. He was unable to suggest where any more members of the force whom he knew to be chronic shirkers might be found that night; but even this fact could not discourage Hawley. He declared confidently that if they rode around town a bit, and kept their eyes open, they were likely to pick up a couple of random snapshots to complete their night’s work.
So, while the citizens of Oldham slept peacefully on, in utter ignorance of this enterprising effort that was being made to reform conditions in their town—and incidentally to increase the circulation of the Bulletin—the big touring car traversed the highways and byways in search of more blue-coated victims of this relentless photographic crusade.
This search was not unproductive. As the Camera Chap and his friends rode through Main Street, they suddenly encountered the most sensational and the most shameful spectacle of the night—a man in the uniform of a captain of police so merry that he could scarcely stand.
“That’s Captain Alf Callman—the worst grafter and the biggest bully of the department, barring Chief Hodgins,” exclaimed Parsons excitedly, as he brought the car to a stop. “Don’t fail to get a good picture of him, Mr. Hawley. This is a rare piece of luck. If ever there was a rascal who deserved to be held up to public scorn and ridicule, it’s that brute there.”
“Yes, Frank,” said Carroll, a scowl upon his face, “we want his picture, by all means. A few weeks ago he beat up a crippled boy unmercifully for selling Bulletins outside police headquarters.”
The Camera Chap’s face grew grim. “And you mean to say you let him get away with that?” he exclaimed, in astonishment.
“I did all that I could,” replied the proprietor of the Bulletin. “I preferred charges against him in court, and I’ve been roasting him on the front page of the paper every day since. But his pull enabled him to have the case thrown out of court, and the Bulletin’s roasts don’t seem to have worried him much. He’s too thick-skinned to care what’s said or printed about him.
“But, thick-skinned as he is,” Carroll went on, “I’ll bet he’ll rave when he sees his picture on our front page, showing him in that condition. That’ll hurt him more than anything else I can think of. So be sure to get a good snapshot of him, Frank; one that’ll show the public just what a beast he is.”
The taking of this flash-light picture was an easy matter, and there was no risk attached, for Captain Alf Callman was too happy to realize what was happening, and merely grinned fatuously when the flash went off. Nevertheless, Hawley had never in all his career as a camera man derived more satisfaction from the taking of a snapshot.