The Thubway Tham Megapack

by Johnston McCulley

  Block after block they walked, until they came to the congested district again. Tham hoped that Miser Dan would take the subway, but he did not. The miser did not care to waste a nickel. He might wear out shoe leather, but he got his old shoes by begging anyway.

  Now Thubway Tham edged nearer and awaited a proper opportunity. As a usual thing, Tham never picked a pocket except in a subway train, but this was not a usual occasion. Thub­way Tham was not after profit par­ticularly—he was after vengeance.

  He knew that the worst thing he could do to Miser Dan would be to get the wallet that contained the rent money. That would be worse than tor­ture or sudden death to the old miser. He would grieve over it for months to come, bewail his fate—and he would get little sympathy from anybody.

  “The thimp!” Tham mused. “He ith ath crooked ath—”

  There was a crowd on a corner, and Tham quickened his pace, hoping to accomplish his object as Miser Dan went through the crowd. But the old man happened to take it into his mind at that juncture to cross the street, and Tham did not dare make the attempt.

  On they went, block after block. They passed Madison Square and they passed Union Square and they went be­low Washington Square. Thubway Tham wiped the perspiration from his forehead and told himself that he could not endure another mile of it, and that he did not understand how Miser Dan stood it at all.

  Now they were in a section of nar­row streets and masses of hurrying, jostling humanity. Miser Dan entered a butcher shop and tried to beg some scraps of meat. Thubway Tham waited, grateful for the chance to rest. Dan came forth without the meat, the butcher having recognized him, and started on down the street. Tham knew that he would have to do his work soon now, if he did it at all. And then he saw Detective Craddock.

  Craddock was approaching him from the other direction. Thub­way Tham did not care to be seen. If he was, Craddock would hold him in conver­sation for a time, and he would lose Miser Dan. And if Craddock saw Miser Dan, and Tham close behind him, and Dan complained later about being robbed—

  Tham darted into a doorway and almost held his breath as Crad­dock went past. He waited a time, and then went forth into the street again and hurried after the miser. It took him three blocks to catch up.

  “Ath crooked ath—” Tham began.

  Ahead of him there was a sudden turmoil. A small riot had started from an argument between strikers and strike breakers before a small manufacturing institution. Thubway Tham ran for­ward now, for he knew that this was his chance. He got within a few feet of Miser Dan, who was being jostled this way and that by the rush of men, and who was trying to get away.

  The old man staggered back as some­body gave him an elbow in his ribs. He raised his hands to ward off a sec­ond blow—and Thubway Tham did his work.

  Darting out from the crowd Tham hurried for the nearest alley. He un­tied the old wallet, extracted the bills, and hurled the wallet behind a pile of brick. He came to the next street and turned into it, safe, rejoicing.

  “The old thkinflint!” Tham said. “Maketh a man think that he ith thtarvin’ when he ith rich! He ith ath crooked ath—”

  He stopped in a sheltered doorway to investigate his loot. The currency amounted to more than one hundred dollars.

  “Thith will make him mourn for a month,” Tham murmured. “Let it be a lethon to the thcoundrel! Mither Dan, ith he? He ith ath crooked ath—ath crooked ath Pearl Street!”

  THUBWAY THAM’S CHRITHTMATH

  There was a flurry of fine snow in the stinging air as Thubway Tham came to a stop at a corner of Madison Square, the collar of his overcoat turned up and his gloved hands thrust deep down into the pockets.

  It was a little after seven o’clock on Christmas Eve, and Thubway Tham had been purchasing presents. He had them in his pockets now—a new pipe for “Nosey” Moore, who conducted the lodging house where Tham had a room he called home, and a duplicate of it for Detective Craddock.

  Thubway Tham chuckled at the thought of a pickpocket of the professional variety giving a Christmas present to the detective assigned to watch him and capture him if he could. But the relationship between himself and Detective Craddock was peculiar in many ways. Each considered the other a foe-man worthy of his steel. For almost two years Detective Craddock had been trying to catch Thubway Tham “with the goods,” that being the only way in which he could land the little dip in the big gray prison up the river, but the detective’s efforts had availed him nothing.

  And now Thubway Tham stood back against a building and watched the happy, jostling crowd. Men rushed here and there, their arms filled with bundles of odd shapes and sizes. Women chatted gayly as they hurried toward the nearest subway entrances. The people seemed happy, and the weather was just right. Tham felt that it was going to be a good Christmas.

  He watched the throng for a time, and then lighted a cigarette, took half a dozen puffs at it to get it going properly, bent his head against the force of the stinging wind, and crossed the street to enter Madison Square.

  Though it was far too cold to sit on a bench, Thubway Tham wandered from force of habit to the corner where he did sit on pleasant afternoons. He was hoping that he might run across Detective Craddock—and he did.

  Just then the big officer came slowly along the walk, chewing at a cigar and watching those who passed. As they met, Craddock grinned.

  “Tho I thee your ugly fathe again, do I?” Thubway Tham said by way of greeting.

  “Even so, Tham! This is indeed an unexpected pleasure,” Detective Craddock told him. “I little expected to run across you in this part of our fair city at this hour of the evening. I had a lurking suspicion that you traveled toward the south when dusk came and remained in that section about which the least said the better.”

  “Ith that tho?” Tham wanted to know. “And what ith the matter with the part of town in which I live?”

  “There is nothing the matter with that part of town, Tham, but some of the people there are under suspicion.”

  “Uh-huh! Everybody ith under thuthpithion if we leave it to thome of you withe copperth,” Tham said. “I wath jutht thtandin’ here watchin’ the crowd.”

  “It’ll bear watching—in spots,” Detective Craddock re­torted, grinning again.

  “Tho?”

  “So! It certainly gratifies me, Tham, to find you out in the open like this. Were you in the subway, now, I’d have to keep an eye on you continually, and I have other things to do this evening. Men of your ilk, Tham, are especially active in the happy Christmas throngs.”

  “Ith that tho? My goodneth!” Thubway Tham gasped out. “Any crook who would thteal from a perthon on Chritht­math Eve ought to be thot at thunrithe.”

  “Tham, that sentiment, coming from you, rather surprises me,” the detective admitted.

  “You thay, Craddock, that I am a dip and—”

  “I’ll say again that you are!”

  “Maybe tho! But, if I do happen to be a dip—and I ain’t thayin’ that I am—take it from me that I would not work on a night like thith!”

  “No?”

  “No!” Thubway Tham declared earnestly. “There are dayth and dayth on which a dip can work. And if one thtealth from a man or woman what might be money for Chrithtmath pre­thentth, it would be bad luck.”

  “Oh, I see! I’m getting a new angle on crook superstition!” Crad­dock said.

  “It ith not thuperthtition—it ith jutht common de­then­thy!” Thub­way Tham declared. “I would go hungry before I would thteal on Chritht­math Eve!”

  “And I believe that you actually mean it!” Detective Crad­dock ex­claimed. “I feel greatly relieved, Tham. I won’t have to shadow you tonight.”

  “You couldn’t thadow an elephant,” Tham told him. “Crad­dock, you are a copper, but you’re dethent and have thome thenthe. I’ll thay that much.”

  “Thank you kindly!” said Craddock, bowing.

  “And tho,” Thubway Tham added, pulling a little package from one of his b
ig overcoat pockets, “I have gone and bought you a Chrithtmath prethent.”

  “Tham, you overwhelm me!” the detective declared. “This is not offered in—er—in the nature of a bribe?”

  “Craddock, don’t be an ath!”

  “I humbly beg your pardon, Tham. Thanks! A pipe!”

  “You thmoke, don’t you?”

  “I do, and I happen to need a new pipe. I’ll have a little present for you tomorrow, Tham, if I happen to run across you. But understand me, old-timer, I’d take you in this minute if I had the goods on you.”

  “That ith underthtood,” Tham replied. “When you get the goodth on me, Craddock, I’d ought to be taken in and given twithe the limit. I’ll thay I had!”

  “Nevertheless, old boy, one of these days—”

  “I know that old thpeech!” Thubway Tham interrupted. “One of thethe dayth you are goin’ to catch me dead to rightth and thend me up the river for about fifteen or twenty yearth. Uh-huh! It theemth to me that I have been hearin’ that thtory for quite thome little time now. But I’ll thay thith much, Crad­dock—if I ever am taken in, I hope you’ll be the copper to do it and get all the credit.”

  “Thank you kindly, again!”

  “Even if you are a thort of thimp at timeth,” Tham added. “Merry Chrithtmath!”

  Detective Craddock grinned as Thubway Tham continued along the walk, looked at the pipe and put it into his pocket, and then walked briskly in the opposite direction, toward a corner where he believed that he had important business. Some pickpocket, it had been reported, was working there.

  Thubway Tham meant what he had said. He never lifted a leather on Christmas Eve, or on the Fourth of July. He felt sure that it would prove to be ill luck. Of course, if there were extenuating circumstances, he might feel called upon to do so—but he never had met such extenuating circumstances.

  He crossed over to Broadway and walked slowly in the direction of Times Square. There, he had decided, he would take a subway express for downtown, go to the lodging house of Nosey Moore, give Mr. Moore his pipe, and then retire.

  Though he had few real friends in the world, Thubway Tham felt happy. The spirit of Christmas was upon him. It was as though the folks of the world were all in one big family, and he belonged. He purchased newspapers he did not want and gave them back to the newsboys. He bought a sprig of holly and put it in the buttonhole of his lapel. When men and women jostled him and almost knocked him off the walk and into the street, Thubway Tham did not glare, as he would have glared on any other day.

  Descending into the subway, Thubway Tham waited on the crowded platform until a downtown express roared in and boarded one of the crowded cars. As the train started its dash through the big tube, Tham could not help wishing that it was not Christmas Eve. Here were so many “business” chances!

  Tham saw half a dozen men near him, any one of whom would have been a prospective victim had he been at “work.” But he did not contemplate breaking his rule. There were no extenuating circumstances, as far as he could see.

  He glanced around at the happy faces, listened to meaningless chatter, yawned once or twice. He pulled off his gloves and dropped them into an overcoat pocket. It was hot in the crowded car.

  And then his eyes bulged suddenly!

  Within six feet of him he saw a small-sized man deliberately “lift a leather.”

  Thubway Tham experienced mingled emotions. In the first place it was unpardonable to lift a leather on Christmas Eve, and the man who did it deserved bad luck for a year. In the next place the subway was sacred to Thubway Tham. All recognized crooks realized that fact and left the subway strictly to Tham. And here was some man Tham did not know lifting a leather on a forbidden day, and doing it in the subway.

  “Why, the dirty thneak!” Thubway Tham growled to himself. “It would therve him right if—”

  A sudden idea came to Tham. He glanced at the pickpocket and then at the man standing to the right of the pickpocket. Yes, that was the victim, Tham felt sure; the man’s overcoat was dark gray, and it was through the flap of a dark gray overcoat that the pickpocket had reached to lift the wearer’s wallet. Well, the crook had nerve to continue to stand beside his victim.

  “I’ll bet that poor fellow needth the money,” Tham told himself. “Maybe it ith Chrithtmath money! And that dirty thneak touched him for hith purthe right before my eyeth. Hith work wath coarthe at that!”

  Tham’s idea was completed by this time. He would touch the dip in turn, he decided, and restore the purse to its owner. That would be a kind act, and Christmas was the time for kind acts, the way Tham saw things.

  He swayed forward as the train dashed around a curve and got nearer the pickpocket. He awaited his chance, when the train was coming into the station. His hand darted forward, the purse was taken, and slipped down into Tham’s overcoat pocket.

  The train stopped, the doors went open, and the owner of the purse got out. Tham stepped out of the car behind him and tried to catch him before he got up to the street. He managed it as the street was reached and touched the other man on the arm.

  “Well?” the other said snappily as he turned.

  Tham had not expected such a surly tone, but he told himself that perhaps this man had troubles. He grinned and ex­tended the pocketbook.

  “You dropped your purthe, thir,” Thubway Tham said. “Here it ith!”

  The other man looked at him blankly for an instant.

  “My—oh, yes, my purse!” he exclaimed. “And you picked it up, I suppose?”

  “Thomething like that,” Tham admitted.

  “Um! And how does it happen that you didn’t keep it?” the other asked snapping the purse open.

  “That would be a dirty trick on Chrithtmath Eve,” Thub­way Tham told him. “That ith right—open it and count the money. Think that I thtole thome of it?”

  “Certainly not, my man,” the other responded. “Had you been wanting to steal, I suppose you would have retained the whole thing. Let me see! A hundred and five—that is correct! Here!”

  He extended a five-dollar bill toward Thubway Tham.

  “I wath not thinkin’ of getting any reward for returnin’ the purthe,” Tham said.

  “Yes, I appreciate that fact, my man, but you are going to take this five just the same,” the other replied. “Buy yourself something for Christmas—anything you like. And—thanks! I thank you very much! I—er—appreciate this!”

  Thubway Tham accepted the bill. “That ith all right, thir,” he said.

  And then the other man smiled and turned away. Thub­way Tham looked after him and grinned. It struck Tham as funny that he should return a purse stolen by somebody else, and one that still held a hundred dollars, and get a reward for doing it.

  Tham was several blocks from the establishment of Nosey Moore, but it was not so cold now, and Thubway Tham decided that he would walk the remainder of the distance rather than descend into the subway again and wait for a train. So he went off down the busy street less than half a block behind the man to whom he had returned the stolen purse.

  He had lifted a leather on Christmas Eve, but there had been extenuating circumstances, Tham told himself. He had stolen from a thief and returned the loot to its owner. Tham felt a sudden glow that came from what he considered a kind deed well done. He promised himself that he would spend that five dollars for something that he could keep as a memento of the occasion.

  Three blocks down the street he went, and then he came to a sudden stop where some children were singing in the street. Tham waited at the edge of the crowd, already feeling in a pocket for a coin to give when the collection was gathered. He heard two men talking to one side, and when he turned, thinking that he recognized one of the voices, he saw that it was the man to whom he had returned the purse.

  “I call it rich!” the man was saying. “The fellow made a mistake, naturally. He saw somebody drop a purse and ran after me and handed it back, thinking that it was mine. A hundred and five in it, too.
I gave the boob a five for his honesty, and he broke his tongue thanking me!”

  At that his companion laughed.

  “Ha, ha!” laughed the man to whom Tham had returned the purse. “A cool hundred to the good! Here it is—see? I’ll put it with this other hundred of mine, roll it all together. Some little celebration we’ll have tomorrow!” At that he discarded the leather, and a few moments later Thubway Tham picked it up, opened it and found that it contained a card bearing the owner’s name and address; then tucked it safely away in an inside pocket.

  Thubway Tham felt his blood boiling. So! He had be­lieved that he was doing a kind act, and this man—this crook—had taken advantage of it! And now he was boasting, and calling Thubway Tham a boob! That was the worst of it!

  It seemed to Tham that he saw red for a moment. He wanted an instant revenge! He wanted to get back that money, since it did not belong to the man to whom he had given it.

  Here, Tham told himself, were extenuating circumstances. If he committed a robbery on this man it would be a just affair. But here was no leather to lift. The scoundrel had wrapped the bills around his own hundred dollars and had put the roll into his coat pocket. Getting it would be more difficult than lifting a leather after the established fashion.

  Yet Tham was determined. He forgot all thought of Christ­mas. He forgot superstition and the season and remembered only that he must get that roll of bills.

  When the two men started down the street, Thubway Tham followed them through the crowd. He did not even see the little girl who held out a hat for a coin now that the singing was at an end. He saw nothing except the scoundrel who had duped him.

  And Tham felt ill at ease, too, because this was not in the subway, where he generally worked. He did not want to make the attempt until he was reasonably sure of success. Thubway Tham did not wish to spend Christmas Day in prison, waiting for trial on a serious charge. And the true story, if told, would not be believed and would not help him if it was believed.