Chapter XXII: The Traitor

Miggsy’s eyes opened wide with astonishment as he listened to what the younger Gale had to say. From the expression which came to the boy’s face it was evident that the proposition was exceedingly distasteful to him.

“But I couldn’t do that, gents,” he protested. “Really, I couldn’t. Can’t yer make it something else?”

The elder Gale shook his head deprecatingly. “It is just as I feared,” he muttered. “The young man is lacking in nerve. I am afraid, my son, that he isn’t quite qualified to cover police for the _Chronicle_.”

“It ain’t a question of nerve, boss,” protested Miggsy plaintively. “I ain’t afraid to do it. I ain’t afraid of anything. But it wouldn’t be honest. It would be stealing--this thing that you want me to do.”

The younger Gale frowned. “Nonsense!” he said sharply. “You mustn’t talk like that, Mr. Miggles. Do you think for a minute that my father or I would ask you to steal? You ought to be ashamed of yourself for suggesting such a thing.”

The boy looked puzzled. “Well, you want me to swipe them pictures from the _Bulletin’s_ photo-engraving room, and bring them to you, don’t you?” he asked. “Ain’t that stealin’?”

“Certainly not,” replied the younger Gale indignantly; “not when it’s done for a newspaper. Circumstances alter cases, you know, Mr. Miggles. In newspaper work lots of things are justified which might be looked upon as wrong in ordinary life.”

“Very true,” chimed in the proprietor of the _Chronicle_. “A newspaper reporter on an assignment is just like a soldier in time of war, young man. He must recognize no law save the law of doing his duty--of carrying out the orders of his superior officers. It wouldn’t do, you know, for our troops to refuse to shoot at the enemy on the grounds that it is wrong to shed human blood. Yet a soldier would have just as much reason to argue that killing is murder, as you have to argue that--ahem--obtaining those pictures for the _Chronicle_ would be larceny. As my son has very properly remarked, circumstances alter cases.”

Miggsy was somewhat dazzled by this sophistry. “I suppose there’s somethin’ in that,” he muttered hesitatingly.

“You can bet there’s a whole lot in it,” declared the younger Gale. “My father has put the case very well, I think. If you had ever worked on a big New York newspaper, Mr. Miggles, you wouldn’t hesitate for a minute about covering this assignment. In New York reporters are called upon to do little things of this sort quite frequently. It is looked upon as perfectly proper.”

This argument had great weight with Miggsy. He knew that this nattily dressed young man had been a reporter on a New York newspaper, and therefore might well be considered an authority on Park Row journalistic ethics. And if it was perfectly proper to steal for a newspaper in New York, thought the boy, then, likewise, it must be perfectly proper to commit larceny for a newspaper in Oldham. His opposition began to waver.

“But let us have no further discussion about the matter, my son,” cried the elder Gale impatiently. “If this young man does not care to undertake this assignment, we certainly have no wish to persuade him to do so. Of course, we do not really need those pictures. I merely suggested the assignment as a means of testing his courage and ingenuity. We will let the matter drop. No doubt I shall easily be able to find somebody else to cover police for the _Chronicle_. At fifteen dollars a week we ought to have no difficulty in getting a man for the job.”

This reminder of what he was about to lose proved too much for Miggsy. The mention of that munificent salary quenched the last flicker of his conscience.

“You don’t have to get nobody else, Mr. Gale,” he said hastily. “I’m going to cover police for you. I’m going back to the _Bulletin_ office now, to get them pictures.”

At this the elder Gale smiled at him approvingly, while the younger Gale slapped him heartily on the back.

“That’s the way to talk, old chap!” the latter exclaimed. “I see you’ve got the right stuff in you, after all. You’re going to make a great reporter. Bring those negatives here just as soon as you can, and if any prints have been made, don’t fail to grab all of them. Don’t forget, Mr. Miggles, that not a single copy must be left behind.”

“I understand,” said the boy. “You want me to make sure that them pictures ain’t published in the _Bulletin_ to-morrow morning. I get you.”

Miggsy had been sent out by one of the _Bulletin’s_ reporters to purchase a paper of tobacco; and while he had been gone considerably longer than this errand required, the delay was not commented upon when he returned. Of course, nobody in the _Bulletin_ office dreamed of suspecting that the youngster had been in the camp of the enemy.

Consequently it was not a difficult matter for Miggsy to obtain possession of those precious negatives. The ruse which he employed in order to obtain them has already been described. Having ascertained that no prints had as yet been made, he slipped the films into his pocket, and hurried down the stairs which led from the _Bulletin’s_ photo-engraving room to the street.

But on his way down, as he passed the closed door of the editorial room, he experienced a sudden qualm. The sight of that familiar door brought to him a realization of the enormity of his act.

“It seems like a rotten trick to double cross the old pape,” he mused. “Mr. Carroll has always treated me pretty white. That time when I was laid up with a broken ankle he sent me wages around to the house every week, and kept me job open for me until I was well again.”

The thought caused him to hesitate on the stairway, but the hesitation was only momentary. There came to his mind, just then, the recollection of that time when he had asked the proprietor of the _Bulletin_ to give him a chance as a reporter, and Carroll had laughed uproariously at the suggestion.

That recollection was sufficient to harden his heart. “The _Chronicle_ is willing to make me a reporter, at fifteen dollars a week,” he mused. “Wouldn’t I be a chump to pass up this grand opportunity? I guess Carroll will be darned sorry he laughed when he sees me coverin’ police for the rival pape.”

Ten minutes later he was once more in the private office of the proprietor of the _Chronicle_.

The Gales, father and son, received him with great cordiality. “Did you get them, young man?” the elder Gale inquired eagerly.

“Yes, sir,” replied Miggsy, throwing the films upon the desk. “Here they are, sir.”

“But how about the prints, Mr. Miggles?” the younger Gale demanded anxiously. “You don’t mean to say that you left them behind?”

“There wasn’t any prints,” the boy explained. “Neilson, our photo-engraver--I mean their photo-engraver--hadn’t made any. These negatives were all they had.”

“You are quite sure of that?” the younger Gale demanded searchingly.

“Yes, sir; I am quite sure. I was very careful to see that no copies were left behind.”

The two Gales exchanged glances of congratulation. “I guess our friend Carroll will have to get a new front page for to-morrow’s issue,” the proprietor of the _Chronicle_ chuckled. “It gives me great joy, my son, to deprive our esteemed contemporary of its star feature.”

His son grinned. “Yes; my only regret is that we cannot publish the pictures ourselves,” he said. “Of course, our friendship for the police department makes that quite impossible. It is too bad. It would be such a rattling good joke on that confounded Camera Chap if we could use his snapshots on the front page of to-morrow’s _Chronicle_.”

The elder Gale smiled deprecatingly. “As you have said, my son, that is quite out of the question. As we run the administration organ, the pictures are useless to us for publication. But I have no doubt we shall be able to find other uses for them.”

Then the proprietor of the _Chronicle_ dipped his hands into his trousers pocket, and produced a silver coin, which he extended toward Miggsy.

“You have done well, my boy,” he said; “very well, indeed. Here is a half dollar for you.”

Miggsy thought it was somewhat beneath the dignity of a reporter to receive a fifty-cent tip like a common office boy, but, not wishing to hurt the old gentleman’s feelings, he decided not to debate the point.

“Thank you, sir,” he said, pocketing the coin. “When shall I start in to cover police?”

As Mr. Gale appeared not to have heard the question, Miggsy took the liberty of repeating it. “When do I start in on the job?” he inquired. “Shall I go over to police headquarters now, sir? I’m ready.”

To his great astonishment the proprietor of the _Chronicle_ stared at him coldly. “Ready for what, young man?” he inquired.

“To cover police, sir.”

A laugh from the younger Gale--a cruel, jeering laugh--brought a sudden chill to the boy’s heart.

“You cover police! Why, you’re only a kid!”

“A mere child,” chimed in the elder Gale, stroking his mutton-chop whiskers. “Come around again five or six years from now, and we may be able to find room for you on the reportorial staff of the _Chronicle_, my boy, but not before then.”

“But you said that if I made good with them pictures I was to have the job, at fifteen dollars a week,” cried Miggsy, a choke in his voice.

The proprietor of the _Chronicle_ turned inquiringly to his son. “Did I say that?” he asked. “Do you recall my saying anything to give this boy such a mistaken impression?”

“Certainly not,” was the reply. “I am afraid the boy is subject to hallucinations.”

“You certainly did say it!” cried Miggsy hotly. “And I’ve made good! I’ve brought you them pictures. What more do you want?”

Tears came to the boy’s eyes. “I’ve queered myself with the _Bulletin_,” he sobbed. “I can’t go back there now. I’ll be out of work, and me mudder needs every cent I make. Please, please, Mr. Gale, if you won’t let me cover police, find somethin’ else for me to do in the _Chronicle_ office.”

The proprietor of the _Chronicle_ shook his head. “I regret to say there are no vacancies,” he said coldly. “We couldn’t find room for you here even as an office boy. Besides, I am afraid you are not quite honest, young man. The fact that you have pilfered those pictures has made a bad impression upon me. It is my belief that a man or a boy who would steal for me would also steal from me.”

He turned to the younger Gale. “My son, I will trouble you to put this noisy boy outside,” he said.