Could Hold

The Rat No (rap

By
JOSEPH GOLLOMB

*

Another True Story by This Brilliant Author of an Attempt to Outwit Justice—
Son of a Hardware Merchant Starts a Career of Crime by Robbing the Store
Till—Gaol Terms and Escapes—Feigns Insanity—Another and Final Getaway

RRESISTIBLY, when I think of Tommy
JYowd, [am reminded of a rat. Not that he
yas particularly despicable, although a
yabitual criminal he was. What I have in
nind rather is a human being with a rat’s
hrewdness and talent for gnawing through
ny barrier in its way. My comparison,
iowever, falls short of justice to Tommy’s
ne great adventure; one does not think of
nything which a rat could do that could
nake us all feel proud of the spirit inherent
n man’s flesh. Whereas, that is precisely
vhat I feel when I think of Tommy’s cam-
yaign to get out of Joliet Prison.

Tommy deserves a biographical note.
When he was a boy his father kept a hard-
ware store in a small city. Tommy was a
lightly built youngster with a square,
hallow tophead, square jaws and small,
hifty grey eyes so keen in their look that
nvariably people compared them to gimlets.
de was uncommunicative, avoided making
riends, hated school, and in general seemed
o have but one passion in life, his father’s
hop.
At first his parents thought this meant
hat their son would like to keep shop him-
elf. Then they noticed that it was the steel
ools and the locks his father sold that
ngrossed Tommy as much as toys engrossed
ther children.

Tommy’s father had treated his shop to
vhat he thought was a burglar-proof money
ill. The key to it he kept to himself. Ona
lay when he knew that the key had not left
is pocket for a moment he found that the
ock of his till had been skilfully picked and
vhat money there had been on hand was
one. The police were called in.

They found that Tommy had had an
rgy of spending in the neighbouring candy
tore; Tommy was questioned as to where he
ot the money. He refused to open his
nouth. Tommy’s father never did spare
he rod, and this time he laid it on Tommy’s
erson until it would seem that no mere
uman flesh, to say nothing of a child’s,
ould stand more punishment; anybody else
vould have given in and confessed.

Tommy’s body became covered with a
etwork of welts; still his father plied the
loglash; and still Tommy’s lips were locked
gainst confession, not even the whimper of
confession of how much the leather thong
eared his flesh. Tommy’s flesh seemed one
hing, his spirit quite another.

VINTER EDITION

Ends in Disaster.

Tommy's father finally could no longer
raise a hand, so tired he got. Another reason
why he stopped beating his son was that the
youngster had fainted. Cold water revived
the boy, and his father promised that if
Tommy did not confess they would go
through the whole business all over again.
Tommy said nothing. The beating was re-
peated, and at the end Tommy’s father was
no wiser than before; at least, he learned
nothing from Tommy’s lips.

Circumstantial evidence, however, gave
Tommy away as the thief. Like his skill in

picking his father’s lock and like his forti- _

tude of spirit, the blunder Tommy had made
in not hiding the traces of his crime also

foreshadowed the man he was to be. His
great talents lay in keeping his mouth shut,
picking locks and making the most of what
tools he could lay his hands upon; he was
not so good, once he committed a crime, in
covering up his traces.

Tommy’s father kicked the boy out of
his house, eventually. Whereupon Tommy
picked the lock to another house—he was
sixteen at the time; helped himself to some
valuables, pawned them, and spent the
money on a celebration all by himself. It
did not last long. The police caught up to
him even before he had spent his loot; and
Tommy got his first taste of gaol.

For the next fifteen years Tommy's story

“King Canute, take your sword.”

Page Sixty-one