SEMI-MONTHLY MAGAZINE
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You Cant Make it Pay
Beaming me Laws ana the Prophets
By HENRY OYEN
Illustrations by Arthur Jameson
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'WTW77'
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"HEX Chub Walker heard the words of
the dignified Judge directing that he
be confined in the Federal prison for
the term 01 three years he accepted the
sentence, not as a visitation upon him
for his wrong-doing, but merely as a
run of the luck against him. And,
pennj-wisc in the ways of the world, he knew that
soon the luck must swing back his way. He had
played ard lost, that was all. He had matched his
talents, experience and luck against the vigilance of
the United States government as expressed in its
postal inspectors. Jf he had been able to keep his
fifty per cent investment bureau hidden from the
inspectors for another three months he would have
annexed, safely and permanently, $100,000 of the
confiding public's monej-. That would have spelled
success. Well, sooner or later, it would come. The
luck was bound to change. Somewhere ahead of
him was the big killing of easy money for which be
had been striving ever since leaving college.
"And it is to be hoped," concluded the Judge,
"that this punishment which the law metes out to you
will be, not a hindrance, but a help to your future
career. It is to be hoped that, no matter what the
promptihgs of your instincts may be, your superior
gifts of intelligence will appreciate that it is hope
less to teek to thrive by wrong-doing, that no matter
how shrewd, how brilliant you may be you can't
make it pay." ,
THE solemnity of the words moved Chub only to
a polite sneer. He had heard that kind of talk
before. Tn fact, ever since he had made the dis
covery that the world was made up of two kinds of
people, the fools who worked for a living and the
wise ones who lived oft the fools, and had decided
to cast his lot with the latter, there I tad always been
some sheep-like croaker standing by to warn him
of the ultimate end of his ways. At college, for in
stance, when he had tricked the New York ticket
speculators with a bunch of fraudulent tickets to the
big foot-ball game, Ieander, his room-mate, had
pointed out the desperate chances he had taken.
And Leander now was a timid book-maker at $20 a
. week. Later, in his senior year, when lie was pre
tending to play the market with a pool contributed
by six young freshmen the sanctimonious class pres
ident, Borton, had pleaded with him for the honor
of the class to quit skating on thin ice.
After graduation it had been his father who had
trotted out the old banal admonitions to work bard,
be honest, and succeed. Chub had indicated how
much ho despised such child's talk by borrowing
$100 from the parental purse and vanishing into the
mazy, shifty half-world, where men and women
live "by their wits and despise the rest of the world
which toils for their benefit. Tonopah, Reno, San
Francisco, Hot Springs, New Orleans, Broadwaj
iti all of these he had pursued fortune in his own
illegal way. Sooner or later he knew that he would
CMS VM. -
Chub went straight to hit father in New
York when hit term was over
" Y' ever hear of Dell Mungry. Kid?
he hissed .
make the big clean-up which would give the lie to
those who advocated honesty and industry as the
best means to success.
When he had entered New York with the idea for
his investment bureau he had felt
sure that he had it at last. Well,
he had been mistaken. The luck
had run against him. So now it
was a prison sentence and three
years to sit down and evolve an
easy-money scheme which could
not fail. Plenty of time to work
out a sure thing. And after that,
Chub, the wise gambler, knew that
the pendulum inevitably must
swing his way.
"Thank you, your honor,"
sneered Chub softly., Then
the deputy marshal led him
away.
Late the next afternoon
Chub stood respectfully be-
fore the warden of the Fed
e r a 1 prison, crop-haired,
bathed, and arrayed in pris
on arb, but nevertheless
bearing himself with the air
of the man who anpraioes all
people and decides how best they may be deceived.
The warden, famous for his humanitarian principles
and skillful handling of prisoners, sat with the com
mitment papers in his folded hands and regarded
Chub with sorrowful interest.
"Walker," boomed his deep voice, "I'm sorry to
have you with us, honestly sorry. You've got too
good a head; you should have known better. How
ever, they've only given you a three-spot. I hope
you won't be with us that long; I hope you earn and
keep your copper. You've had experience in office
work, have n't you ? "
"Yessir," said Chub respectfully.
The warden indicated his approval by a brief nod.
"Then you're in luck. Mj registry clerk finished
his bit this morning. You'll take his place." He
pressed the button on the side of his desk marked:
Library and soon the door opened timidly and a
convict came in. The man appeared to be of mid
dle age. His forehead was that of a student, bulg
ing heavily above timid, washed-out eyes. The
mouth was weak, and an apologetic, iqgratiating
smile hovered over the lips. Chub, appraising the
man in one swift, expert glance, labelled him men
tally: A first class sucker; the kind of man he could
bend to his own desires.
"Clarkson," said the warden, "here's the new reg
istry clerk. You'd better take and break him in
right away. There's some work piled up ahead
now."
Clarkson smiled, bowed humbly, and beckoned
Chub to follow him into the office. Here he began
apologetically to initiate Chub into. the simple cler
ical duties of the job. For three days they worked
together, Clarkson the humble instructor, Chub the
quick-minded contemptuous pupil. Then the war
den directed that the instruction cease, and then for
the first time Clarkson dropped his apologetic smile
and manner and looked the new man over from head
to toe.
"CMRST time in stir, eh?" he said in the convict's
normal tone of huskiness. "What 'd you bring
with you ?"
"A three-spot," said Chub carelessly. Three days'
constant association had wearied him of this dodder
ing old fool.
"Bank work?"
"No. No rough stuff. I had a little investment
bureau." 'Chub yawned. "They got sore and
nicked me."
"Sure." Clarkson shook his head mournfully.
"They always do."
"Do what?" demanded Chub.
"Nick you. You're nothing but a kid, but you've
"No matter how shrewd, how brilliant
you may be you can't make it pay."
been educated. You ought
to known better. They al
ways nick you. You're a
foolish kid."
Chub smiled his most con
temptuous smile. "Well,
you must be a little foolish
yourself, old timer," he said. "I notice
they nicked you, too. What've you
got?"
"Fifteen!" A gleam of indignation
shone in Clarkson's washed-out eyes.
"They oughtn't to have made it so
strong me with a wife and two kids
outside."
"Bank work?" taunted Chub.
The older man stiffened instantly,
and for an instant his face was almost
strong and hard with a flare of pride.
He looked Chub squarely in the eyes.
((y 'EVER hear of Dell Mungry, kid?" he hissed.
1 Chub nodded. He had lived just near
enough to the world of avowed criminals to know
that the name stood for the most skillful counter
feiter in the country, a man whom underworld tra
dition said had passed bills of his own manufacture
on a United States sub-treasury.
"Well," said Clarkson relapsing weakly into his
former humbleness, "well, I'm him."
Chub sat very quiet, very impassive ou his high
stool. Somewhere in the back of his sharp mind
there had registered a certain thrill. And by this
thrill Chub knew that here was where Luck began to
come his way. Wherefore he put on n look of most
respectful astonishment and stammered: "Well, 1
didn't mean to be fresh, Mr. Clarkson. I didn't
have any way of knowing, you know. From what
I'd heard I did n't think they'd ever nick you."
Clarkson smiled emptily to show that he was ap
peased. "All right. But now mebbe you'll pay some at
tention to me. Couldn't nick me? Why, yo'u nick
yourself the minute you begin to play this crook
game. The game does it. It nicks you. Why?
Because it's wrong. It don't fit in with the world.
Take my word for it, kid J anybody who plays the
crook game is the prize sucker." He sighed hope
lessly, shaking hs head. "It it can't be made to
pay."
Chub, also shaking his head, agreed: "I guess
you're right." But when Clarkson had gone he got
off his high stool and did a jig-step, in spite of his
heavy prison shoes. For Chub had seen the light;
ho knew now just how his luck was goiner to change.
yr? :
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"Looks kind of queer to
me. Bill." he said.
'Look it over, will you?