Part 17 (1/2)

”I don't know,” said the other, pursing his lips. ”I can't say that I like Braddock's greedy ways. He wants too much in the divvy. There's plenty of shows nowadays that don't ask anything off of us. But Brad's got to have a slice of it. See? I've been thinking a little of Barnum or Van Amberg.”

Ernie spoke up shrilly. ”You bet your life he ain't going to leave the show.” d.i.c.k turned pink about the ears.

”Never mind that, kid,” he said uneasily. David instinctively knew that there was a girl in the balance.

d.i.c.k had the wonderful knack of ”spotting” a policeman two blocks away.

At times this quality in him was positively uncanny.

”I can see 'em through a brick wall,” he said to David. ”I guess it must be second sight.”

”It's second smell,” said Ernie briefly.

They came at length to the show grounds. Here, to David's amazement, every one they met greeted the tall youth with a shout of joy. He shook hands with all of them, from the hostler to the manager, from the ”butcher” to the highest-priced performer, without any apparent distinction.

”h.e.l.lo, d.i.c.k, old boy!” was the universal greeting.

”h.e.l.lo, kid!” was his genial response, to young and old alike. Women, sunning themselves, waved their hands gayly at him; some of them wafted kisses--which he gallantly returned. Old Joey Noakes took his pipe out of his mouth, crinkled his face up into a mighty smile, and exclaimed:

”It's good for sore eyes to see you again, d.i.c.ky. How was it this time?”

”I liked the stone pile better than the chuck they gave us. Gee whiz, I'll never get pinched in that burg again.”

David turned away for a moment to speak to some one. When he looked again, d.i.c.k Cronk had disappeared.

”Where is he?” he asked of old Joey.

”He's 'arf-way uptown by this time,” said the clown quizzically.

”Who is he, Joey?”

Joey looked surprised. ”Don't you know Artful d.i.c.k Cronk?” he demanded.

”Why, Jacky, he's the slickest dip--that's short for pickpocket--in the United States. He's the king of all the glue-fingers, that boy is. My eye, 'ow he can do wot he does, I can't for the life of me see.” He then went into a long dissertation on the astonis.h.i.+ng accomplishments of Artful d.i.c.k Cronk.

”And you all a.s.sociate with him?” cried David, openly surprised.

”Certain sure. Why not? He's the most honest dip I ever see. He wouldn't touch a thing belonging to one of us--not a thing. He works only on these 'ere rich blokes wot thinks we're sc.u.m and vermin. But, I say, Jacky,” he interrupted himself to say sagely, ”I wouldn't be seen with 'im too often if I was you. He _does_ have to make some very sudden escapes sometimes, unexpected like, and I doubt if you can dodge as well as he can. If that feller was to give up lifting pocket-books, he could be the grandest lawyer in ten states. Wot he don't know about the law n.o.body else does. Experience is a wonderful teacher. He comes by 'is name rightly, he does,--Artful d.i.c.k. I've larfed myself sick many a time listening to 'ow he lifted things. Once he actually took a feller's pocket-book out of 'is inside westcut pocket, removed the bills, signed a little receipt for 'em, and then returned the leather to the gent's westcut. Later on he 'eard the chap was going to use the money to pay off a morgidge and that he 'ad a sick wife. Wot did d.i.c.k do but 'unt him up again and put the money back, removing the receipt and subst.i.tuting a fifty-dollar bill he'd filched from a wise guy in a bank, all wrapped up in a little note telling the chap to give it to 'is wife with the compliments of Old Nick. I've larfed myself to sleep wondering wot the feller thought when he found the note!” ”I've never seen any one just like him. He's a very odd person,” said David. ”I think I should like him in spite of what he is.”

”Everybody likes him. He's so light-'earted he almost bursts with joy.

He's followed us for two seasons, and I've never knowed 'im to do a mean or dishonorable thing,” said Joey with perfect complacency. And yet Joey Noakes was the soul of integrity! David could not help laughing; whereupon the clown hastened to add: ”Except to steal.”

”I'm sorry he's that kind,” deplored David.

”He's about twenty-one,” said Joey, a retrospective light in his eye.

”He first joined us as a sleight-o'-hand man in the side-show. That cussed little brother of 'is got a job taking tickets. d.i.c.k 'ad been in jail a couple of times and he decided to turn over a new leaf. He'd 'a'

been all right if it 'adn't been for Ernie. Ernie didn't think he was making enough money by being honest, so he just naturally drove 'im to picking again. That boy is a little devil. You see, the trouble with poor d.i.c.k is, that he's set 'imself up to protect and provide for Ernie all 'is life. It seems that he's responsible for the deformity. When Ernie was five years old, d.i.c.k, who 'ad a wery disagreeable temper in them days, kicked the little cuss downstairs. The kid was laid up for months and he came out of it all twisted up--just as you see 'im now.

Well, d.i.c.k never got mad at anybody after that. He wery properly swore he'd take care of Ernie and try to make up for wot he'd done to 'im. He said he'd beg or steal or kill if he 'ad to, to provide for 'im. He's never 'ad to beg or kill, I'm thankful to say. So, you see, he ain't altogether to blame for 'is occupation. Ernie's a miser. He wouldn't be satisfied with 'arf of a decent man's wages, if d.i.c.k minded to go to honest work; he must have 'arf of all d.i.c.k can steal, and he sets up a 'orrible rumpus if d.i.c.k don't make some good pulls. Ernie's excuse for 'is greediness is this: he says he wants to 'ave plenty to fall back on if d.i.c.k 'appens to get a long term in the pen. Who's going to support 'im, says he, while d.i.c.k's doing time? Wot do you think of that for brotherly love?”