A Little Book for Christmas | Page 7

a very ancient and
highly placed calling indeed. You doubtless remember that two thieves
comprised the sole companions and attendants of the Greatest King
upon the most famous throne in history. His sole court at the
culmination of His career. "Crackerjack" was no exception to the
general rule about loving and being beloved set forth above.
He loved the little lady whose tattered stocking swung in the breeze
from the cracked window. Also he loved the wretched woman who
with himself shared the honours of parentage to the poor but hopeful
mite who was also dreaming of Christmas and the morning. And his
love inspired him to action. Singular into what devious courses, utterly
unjustifiable, even so exalted and holy an emotion may lead fallible
man. Love--burglary! They do not belong naturally in association, yet
slip cold, need, and hunger in between and we may have explanation
even if there be no justification. Oh, Love, how many crimes are
committed in thy name!
"Crackerjack" would hardly have chosen Christmas eve for a thieving
expedition if there had been any other recourse. Unfortunately there
was none. The burglar's profession, so far as he had practised it, was
undergoing a timely eclipse. Time was when it had been lucrative, its
rewards great. Then the law, which is no respecter of professions of
that kind, had got him. "Crackerjack" had but recently returned from a
protracted sojourn at an institution arranged by the State in its
paternalism for the reception and harbouring of such as he. The pitiful
dole with which the discharged prisoner had been unloaded upon a
world which had no welcome for him had been soon spent; even the
hideous prison-made clothes had been pawned, and some rags, which
were yet the rags of a free man, which had been preserved through the
long period of separation by his wife, gave him a poor shelter from the
winter's cold.

That wife had been faithful to him. She had done the best she could for
herself and baby during the five years of the absence of the bread
winner, or in his case the bread taker would be the better phrase. She
had eagerly waited the hour of his release; her joy had been soon turned
to bitterness. The fact that he had been in prison had shut every door
against him and even closed the few that had been open to her. The
three pieces of human flotsam had been driven by the wind of adversity
and tossed. They knew not where to turn when jettisoned by society.
Came Christmas Eve. They had no money and no food and no fire.
Stop! The fire of love burned in the woman's heart, the fire of hate in
the man's. Prison life usually completes the education in shame of the
unfortunate men who are thrust there. This was before the days in
which humane men interested themselves in prisons and prisoners and
strove to awaken the world to its responsibilities to, as well as the
possibilities of, the convict.
But "Crackerjack" was a man of unusual character. Poverty, remorse,
drink, all the things that go to wreck men by forcing them into evil
courses had laid him low, and because he was a man originally of
education and ability, he had shone as a criminal. The same force of
character which made him super-burglar could change him from
criminal to man if by chance they could be enlisted in the endeavour.
He had involved the wife he had married in his misfortunes. She had
been a good woman, weaker than he, yet she stuck to him. God chose
the weak thing to rejuvenate the strong. In the prison he had enjoyed
abundant leisure for reflection. After he learned of the birth of his
daughter he determined to do differently when he was freed. Many men
determine, especially in the case of an ex-convict, but society usually
determines better--no, not better, but more strongly. Society had
different ideas. It was Brahministic in its religion. Caste? Yes, once a
criminal always a criminal.
"Old girl," said the broken man, "it's no use. I've tried to be decent for
your sake and the kid's, but it can't be done. I can't get honest work.
They've put the mark of Cain on me. They can take the consequences.
The kid's got to have some Christmas; you've got to have food and

drink and clothes and fire. God, how cold it is! I'll go out and get
some."
"Isn't there something else we can pawn?"
"Nothing."
"Isn't there any work?"
"Work?" laughed the man bitterly. "I've tramped the city over seeking it,
and you, too. Now, I'm going to get money--elsewhere."
"Where?"
"Where it's to be had."
"Oh, Jack, think."
"If I thought, I'd kill you and the kid