The Thubway Tham Megapack

by Johnston McCulley

  He was glad that his back was turned toward Craddock, for it gave him time to compose himself. The bag was handed to him, and he whirled around again, a smile on his face.

  “It ith good to be back, even if your ugly fathe ith the firtht I thee,” Thubway Tham said. “Will you hold thith bag, Craddock, while I light a thigarette?”

  Detective Craddock would, and did. He carried the bag, moreover, as they walked to the main entrance, for it seemed that Thubway Tham had trouble with his matches.

  “Going to use the subway?” Craddock asked.

  “Ofcourthe!”

  “Um! I guess I’ll just ride a part of the way with you, Tham.”

  “Go ath far ath you like,” Tham told him. “We thtrive to pleathe. I am goin’ to get my old room if I can, and then—”

  “And then you’ll be up to your old tricks, eh?”

  “Maybe you had better wait,” Tham said angrily. “Maybe you had better wait until I do thomething to give you cauthe to talk that way to me. You make me thick, Craddock! Give me that bag!”

  Tham took it from him and led the way down the street.

  “Why not take the subway from Grand Central?” Craddock asked.

  “Well, by heaventh! I have been away for more than a year, and I want to thee the old town!” Tham replied. “I am going to walk to Timeth Thquare and take a train there.”

  “Well, I’ll not pester you just now, Tham,” Craddock said. “But I’ll be watching you, old boy. And one of these days I’ll nab you, and get you right. Then it will be up the river for yours.”

  “Tho? When that day cometh, it will mean that I am thlowin’ up,” Tham said. “You couldn’t catch a cold, Craddock. Thankth, however, for not pethterin’ me today.”

  “Don’t mention it, Tham.”

  “And thankth, altho, for carryin’ my bag,” Thubway Tham added. “You are very kind. Thith ith a good bag.”

  “And you’ve probably got one shirt, a couple of collars and a pair of socks in it, even if you do happen to have a good front,” Craddock said, laughing.

  “Perhapth,” said Tham. “A man mutht run a bluff onthe in a while, muthn’t he? He muth!”

  And Thubway Tham, now in the city officially, and safe for the present, hurried on up the street. When he had gone half a block and was sure that Craddock was not following, he began, to chuckle.

  “The thilly ath!” he said. “Right under hith nothe!”

  THUBWAY THAM, PHILANTHROPIST

  “Thome highbrow onthe thaid that it ith the thingth right under our nothe that we never thee. The uthual man, thaid he, ith farthighted. Becauthe of that, a man lookth at thingth far away and, ath a rethult, tripth over thingth that are right under hith feet. He altho mitheth a lot of interething thingth. Which only goeth to thow that the uthual man ith a thilly ath.”

  Standing before the cracked mirror in the dilapidated dresser in his room at the cheap lodging house, making the appropriate gestures, this sentiment was delivered into the ether for the benefit of the world at large by no less a per­son than Thubway Tham.

  You know Tham, of course. He was a pickpocket, and he worked only in the subway during rush hours, and he lisped, and thereby earned his name, which was an honored one in the underworld.

  Thubway Tham recently had re­turned after a year spent in southern California, where he had gone because of ill health, and because, also, certain officers of the law, particularly a de­tective named Craddock, were making things unpleasant for him.

  He was quartered in the same lodg­ing house where he had had a room before his journey—a greasy, ram­shackle lodging house on a certain side street, operated by a man formerly a crook and a convict. The statement goes double—the same man operated the lodging house and the street.

  Craddock knew that Thubway Tham was in the city, of course, for Tham had found it necessary to visit his old haunts and look up his friends. The detective had repeated his threat to get Tham “with the goods” and send him to the big prison up the river. Thub­way Tham, hearing that oft-repeated boast, had placed his thumb against his nose and had extended his fingers in a gesture known throughout the world. The gesture meant that Detective Crad­dock could betake himself to a realm where it is warm.

  Tham had refrained from invading the subway and “lift­ing leathers” for a few days. In the first place, he was in funds for the time being; in the second place, he wanted to rest a bit; and, in the third place, he wanted De­tective Craddock to get over his present eagerness. For Craddock was no fool. He was a worthy foe, and on numerous occasions he had come so near to un­doing Thubway Tham that Tham felt shivers playing up and down his spinal column.

  Not being engaged in his usual ne­farious pursuit, Thub­way Tham had time to look around. There were cer­tain sections of the city where his presence was not desired by officers of the law, and so Thubway Tham had to con­tent himself with explorations “below the line.”

  Thus it occurred that he came upon a certain thing in the alley back of the lodging house where he lived, and with­in fifty feet of the side door that Thub­way Tham had used many times.

  Walking through the alley because it was a short cut to a certain restaurant, Thubway Tham had seen a shack. It was propped between the back of two buildings, and looked as if it would have been unable to stand alone. Tham thought at first that it was a storehouse of some sort, but as the door was open and he happened to glance inside, he made the discovery that it was a human habitation.

  That startled Thubway Tham. He knew the sordid and seamy side of life, but he was not aware of the fact that human beings lived in a sort of run­down doghouse like that. He went to the restaurant and returned by way of the alley, his curiosity aroused. When he returned, he found an old man sitting on a soap box before the door of the shack.

  “You live here?” Thubway Tham asked.

  “I do,” said the old man. Thubway Tham looked at him closely. He was a very old man, it was evident at a first glance. He had long hair and an unkempt beard, and they would have been white had they been clean. As it was, they had a color all their own. The old man’s clothing consisted of greasy garments in rags. There was a hungry look in the old man’s face, and his hands shook.

  “Alone?” asked Thubway Tham.

  “Me and my ole woman,” said the man.

  Thubway Tham felt a shock go through him. It was bad enough for a man to live in such a place, infinitely worse for an old man—but an old woman—

  “My heaventh!” Thubway Tham gasped.

  He walked closer to the old man and lighted a cigarette. He puffed at it and regarded the other intently.

  “That ith tough,” Tham said.

  “Eh?” asked the old man.

  “Can’t you live in a better place than thith?”

  “Can’t afford it!”

  “Ith your wife in good health?”

  The old man sighed.

  “She’s in misery all the time,” he said. “She suffers quite a lot on ac­count of pains in her back and legs. Rheumatism, I reckon. She’s had it for years.”

  “It doeth not thurprithe me any,” Tham told him. “Livin’ in a plathe like thith—”

  “We never had any luck,” the old man said. “And now I ain’t able to do a stroke of work, nor my ole woman, either. We just manage to keep the wolf from the door, and sometimes he gets near enough at that for us to hear him sniffin’. It’s a terrible thing for old people to hear the wolf sniffin’; yep, I reckon it is.”

  “My heaventh!” Tham gasped again.

  “I’ve got a license to play a hand-organ, but I don’t make much. The organ ain’t in tune, and my hands shake so I can’t hardly play her. But we manage to get along some way. Ah, well, it won’t be for long now.”

  “Well, ain’t there thome plathe for folkth like you?” Thubway Tham wanted to know. “Ain’t there any hometh rich men have built for old folkth that can’t manage to get along good?”

  “Fakes!” the old man explained. “I trie
d every way to get into one of them with the ole woman, but they wouldn’t have none of us. Politics, I reckon. They’re down on me. Years ago there was a certain election when I didn’t vote right, and they’ve never forgotten it. Nope!”

  “Well, my goodneth! The thkunkth!” said Thubway Tham.

  The old man bowed his head and brushed away a tear. Thubway Tham felt a sudden lump in his throat. He blinked his eyes and looked down the alley.

  “Well, I’ve got to be goin’,” he told the old man. “Maybe I’ll thee you again thome day!”

  Tham went to the lodging house and up the stairs to his own room. The sight of the poverty-stricken patriarch had pained him. He hated to think of an old man and his aged wife living in such squalor. Thubway Tham was a pickpocket and had served time, but he had a tender heart.

  “It ith up to me,” Tham told himself.

  He settled it in exactly that manner. He had decided to be a philanthropist. And then it was that he delivered his oration to the effect that there are things right under our noses that we never see because we are always view­ing things in the distance.

  II.

  The following day Thubway Tham prepared himself for work. He had de­cided not to labor for a month, at least, but he found it necessary now. He wanted to help the old man who lived in the shack, and there was only one way to do it.

  Tham had no intention of playing philanthropist with his own money. The old man had said that the rich and the powerful were against him, and so Tham decided that the rich and power­ful should pay. He would go into his beloved subway, and he would purloin a wallet belonging to somebody who ap­peared to be rich and powerful, and with the contents of that wallet he would purchase supplies for the old man and his aged wife.

  Tham also had decided to make the charity anonymous. In the first place, he could not endure to be thanked for anything, and, besides, he did not care to have investigating police officers learn that he had so much money that he was aiding the poor. They might want to know where he got it.

  His heart singing in anticipation of his good deed, Thub­way Tham left the lodging house and went to the usual res­taurant for breakfast. Then he made his way toward the north, smoking a cig­arette and walking slowly, for it was not yet the hour when New Yorkers stampede in the subway and make the work of a pickpocket easy. The rush hour appealed strongly to Thubway Tham.

  At a certain corner somebody slapped Tham on his back, and he whirled around to see Detective Craddock’s smiling face.

  “Good morning, Tham,” the detec­tive said.

  “It ith not a good morning when I thee your ugly fathe,” Tham said. “I have told you that theveral timeth. Are you goin’ to pethter the life out of me thith mornin’?”

  “Those who live by the sword, Tham, shall die by the sword,” Craddock said.

  “Now, what thenthe ith there in that?” Tham demanded.

  “You grasp me all right, Tham. A gentleman of your profession should expect to have a detective keep an eye on him now and then.”

  “My goodneth! Are you a detec­tive?” Tham asked.

  “So they say, Tham—so they say.”

  “You thertainly are puttin’ thomething over on thome­body,” Tham told him. “Do you draw a thalary and everythin’?”

  “I get my regular stipend, Tham.”

  “The poor taxpayerth!” Tham gasped.

  “Putting aside all jokes, Tham, are you contemplating a trip in our beautiful subway today?”

  “Why do you athk?”

  “I am interested in a measure, Tham. I have noticed that whenever you take a ride in the subway there come a com­plaint into headquarters an hour or so later about a missing purse.”

  “Ath if I cared,” Tham said.

  “And, putting two and two together, Tham—you understand, I trust?”

  “Thay! Jutht becauthe I onthe wath—”

  “Don’t say it, Tham. I know that piece by heart. Just because you once made a slip and were caught, the police should not take it to mean that you are a habitual criminal, eh?”

  “Give a dog a bad name—”

  “Oh, I understand. But don’t try that line of talk on me. Put on a new record when I am visiting with you, Tham. That one grows stale. I wasn’t born yesterday.”

  “No?”

  “No!” said Craddock. “And, if you are going to take a ride in the subway, I’m going right along.”

  “The thubway needth the money,” Tham told him. “I thuppothe you’ll put it on your expenthe account.”

  “You said it, Tham.”

  Tham did not reply. He glared at Craddock, and then he turned his back deliberately and walked up the street. He reached Union Square and went into the subway entrance, knowing that Craddock was but a step behind him.

  Boarding an uptown train, Tham journeyed as far as Times Square, and there he started downtown again and went to Pearl Street. Once more he went uptown to Times Square, took the shuttle train and crossed to the Grand Central terminal, and from there went downtown again. Crad­dock stepped up to him as Tham reached the street.

  “Are you doing this for exercise, Tham?” he asked.

  “Jutht killin’ time,” Tham said. “The thubway needth the money.”

  “You mean you’re killing time until the rush hour crowds get on the trains,” Craddock accused him.

  “I’m killin’ time until you get through pethterin’ me. I am goin’ to thee your both about thith. I hate to thee a detective wathte hith time.”

  “Wasting my time, am I?” Crad­dock asked.

  “You thertainly are,” said Tham. “Why don’t you trail thome crook?”

  “I am.”

  Tham’s face flushed, and, for an in­stant, anger flashed in his eyes.

  “Even if you are,” said Tham, “you are wathting your time. If I wanted to lift a leather I could do it right under your thilly nothe and you’d never know it.”

  “Yes?”

  “Yeth! Ath a detective, you are a fine butcher,” Tham told him. “You thpoil all the joy in life. You make me thick! In my ethtimation you are a thimp!”

  “Harsh words, Tham—very harsh words.”

  “If I can think up any thtronger oneth, I’ll tell them to you,” Tham retorted.

  He turned his back again and walked up the street, and again Detective Craddock followed at his heels. Tham used the subway once more, and left it at City Hall. He had timed his arrival correctly. The streets were thronged. Tham leaned against the front of a building and watched the crowds.

  Craddock began to get nervous. He moved away, and he walked back, but Thubway Tham made no attempt to dodge him. Finally, in huge disgust he went to the corner, and around it.

  Tham saw him go. But he waited for several minutes, puffing at his cig­arette and watching the crowds. Then he turned suddenly and darted into the building against which he had been standing, hurried through it, and emerged on the side street. Two min­utes later, he was in the subway, and Craddock was off the trail.

  Tham boarded an uptown train and looked about the car. He made sure first that there was no officer he knew in that car. And then he looked for a victim.

  He saw one immediately—a prosper­ous-looking man who stood near one of the doors. Thubway Tham edged toward the man and got in the proper position. He brushed against him, and made certain that his intended victim carried a wallet in one of his hip pockets. Thubway Tham always had declared that a man fool enough to carry a wallet there should be robbed and taught a lesson.

  Getting the wallet was not difficult. Tham accomplished it just as the train stopped at a station, got off and hurried to the street, removed the bills the wallet contained, and thrust them into a pocket of his waistcoat, then dropped the wallet itself into the first trash can he came across. There was no evidence on him now, for the wallet was gone and currency is difficult to identify un­less the bills are of large denomination or have been marked.

  Tham journeyed downtown again, spent the remainder o
f the afternoon in peaceful pursuits, and as evening ap­proached went to a grocery and market. He purchased a huge basket and had it filled with provisions. Meats, vege­tables, canned goods, butter, eggs, milk—Tham purchased them all, and in large quantities. Then he carried the basket to his room.

  There he got an envelope, and into it he put the last few bills that he had taken from the stolen wallet and had not spent. He slipped the envelope into one end of the basket.

  “Not a thent of profit,” Thubway Tham told himself. “Thith ith jutht a good deed—that ith all! That old man and hith wife are goin’ to have thingth to eat!”

  Tham waited until about an hour after nightfall, then slipped quietly down the rear stairs and went into the alley. A cracked shade hung over the one window of the shack. Tham could see through one of the cracks.

  He saw the old man and his aged wife. The man was reading a news­paper that looked as if it had been re­covered from a trash can, and his wife was darning a shabby shawl.

  “It ith a thame,” Tham told himself. “That ith no way for folkth to live.”

  He put the basket in front of the door and knocked. Then he darted silently down the alley, and from a distance, watched the old man open the door, stumble over the basket, pick it up, and carry it into the shack.

  Thubway Tham had pleasant dreams that night.

  III.

  The following morning Tham walked through the alley on his way to the restaurant and found the old man sit­ting in the doorway of the shack.

  “How do you feel thith mornin’?” Tham asked him.

  “A trifle better,” the old man replied. “Some Good Samaritan was kind to me last night.”

  “How wath that?”

  “Somebody left a basket of provi­sions on the step,” the old man said. “Some kind soul knows that we are in need, I reckon.”

  “Well, ain’t that nithe!” Tham said. “So you had thome­thing to eat?”

  “Big basket full,” said the old man. “But the ole woman and me ain’t waste­ful at all. I took the meat—a big roast it was—and sold it back to the butcher and got some salt pork with the money. It won’t spoil, it’ll last longer, and that’s economy. Yes, sir.”