"Sophie, find me a lawyer and get me out of this."
That was enough even for the thick-headed police detective, and he took us both away. The old man refused to testify against us. He was afraid he would not be believed and the scandal would get back to his home town. He was right; it would have.
Arrived at the station, no talk or acting was of the slightest avail, and the judge next day held us each in $500 bail.
We raised that amount on jewelry, and, of course, "jumped" it and arrived at Boston together.
I was thoroughly disgusted with Lizzie, but she stuck to me like a leech, in spite of a dozen tricks that would have rid me of a detective.
At last I succeeded in getting away from her and happened to meet an all-round knight of the underworld known as "Frisco Farley." Together we worked the soda fountain trick, which was new then, and which I will explain in a later article.
In the course of the day we took in considerable profits, which had not been divided or even counted when we foolishly stepped into a jewelry store, merely to look at a new-fangled thief-proof showcase.
The first thing I knew, Farley was gone and I was arrested. It seems Farley had operated in that store a year ago, had been noticed and had escaped just in time. I was arrested as his accomplice.
On the way to the station what worried me most was the fact that I had in my pocket a ticket to New York. In Boston, for some reason, a ticket to New York is looked upon by the police as conclusive evidence of guilt.
I burst into tears and wailed and sobbed at the shame and humiliation of my arrest. By concealing the ticket in my handkerchief I managed to get it into my mouth as I wiped away my tears. Long before we reached the station house I had chewed up the small piece of pasteboard and swallowed it.