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: DAILY SHORT STORY
Pride of Profession.
When Larry Callahan left the
protection of the large building
,1'uj) the river" which had been his
enome for four years, and ten
"months on indeterminate .sen
tence plan, the governor had a
farewell talk with him.
. "Go straight, Larry," he plead
ed earnestly. "You've had a good
record while in Sing Sing, and
you've been promised a job by
the Discharged Prisoners' Aid
.society. You're too intelligent a
...man to run crooked; besides, re
' member, sooner or later you get
caught. Larry, it doesn't pay.
Keep away from theBowery and
good luck to you."
u So Larry came to New York
Twearing his new suit, new hat,
cnew shoes and new underwear,
Twith a new life before him and
nearly five years of discharge
moiey in his pocket, which, with
the few dollars he had had on en
tering, which the government had
Handly kept for him, amounted to
7 sixty-seven nineteen.
He meant to run straight; he
had vowed so honestly to the par
don board. Yet it was hard that
he, the cleverest pickpocket who
r ever went "up," who had counted
' his income at a good "fifty per"
, all the year through, should start
- out afresh on ten a week running
r an -elevator. He did not want to
go to work so soon, not while that
67 'reposed in, his vest pocket.
f& So -on the first evening his feet
.'tied 'him, almost against his will,
to the vicinity of Chatham square.
'There he picked up some pals and
disgusted them- with the infor
mation that he was going to run
"Aw, come 'ofF," said one.
"You, Larry, that can live on the
fat of the land! I thought you
had more pride." '
Larry stumbled out into the
night, those words ringirig in his
soul. Aye, that was the crux of
it. It was sheer pride that led him
to clip the gold repeater from the
fob, to snatch the magnet's pock
etbook from the inside pocket of
his coat. Should he, the peerless
pickpocket, throwup this old life
and start running an elevator?
At that same irisfant, a portly,
undersized gentleman with a long
beard strolled by. Larry's fingers
itched. His resolutions were for
gotten, for the breast of the frock
coat bulged with"" what his ex
pert eye told him was a fat wallet.
Softly he crept up, drew abreast,
jostled his victim in a crowd and
the trained fingers crept over the
lapels deftly, only to be seized in
a sinewy grip. '
That grasp was like steel. And
neither spoke; only Larry and his
intended victim eyed one another
under the light of the street lamp.
Gradually the stranger's eyes
grew wider in surprise.
"Larry CallaTian! Q, Larry
Callahan!" he ejaculated. "And
to think you would pick an ex
detective for your work. O,
bungler, bungler. Well, what
have you got to say?" he said in a
sharp tone of command. "Come,
for old time's sake I'll put up a
drink before I take you to the sta
tion. No, an ice cream sbda," he
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