The Observations of Henry | Page 9

be, then?' I says; 'we've all got to be something,
until we're stiff 'uns.'
"'Well,' he says, quite cool-like, 'I think I shall be a burglar.'
"I dropped into the seat opposite and stared at him. If any other lad had
said it I should have known it was only foolishness, but he was just the
sort to mean it.
"'It's the only calling I can think of,' says he, 'that has got any element
of excitement left in it.'
"'You call seven years at Portland "excitement," do you?' says I,
thinking of the argument most likely to tell upon him.
"'What's the difference,' answers he, 'between Portland and the ordinary
labouring man's life, except that at Portland you never need fear being
out of work?' He was a rare one to argue. 'Besides,' says he, 'it's only
the fools as gets copped. Look at that diamond robbery in Bond Street,
two years ago. Fifty thousand pounds' worth of jewels stolen, and never
a clue to this day! Look at the Dublin Bank robbery,' says he, his eyes
all alight, and his face flushed like a girl's. 'Three thousand pounds in
golden sovereigns walked away with in broad daylight, and never so
much as the flick of a coat-tail seen. Those are the sort of men I'm
thinking of, not the bricklayer out of work, who smashes a window and
gets ten years for breaking open a cheesemonger's till with nine and
fourpence ha'penny in it.'
"'Yes,' says I, 'and are you forgetting the chap who was nabbed at

Birmingham only last week? He wasn't exactly an amatoor. How long
do think he'll get?'
"'A man like that deserves what he gets,' answers he; 'couldn't hit a
police-man at six yards.'
"'You bloodthirsty young scoundrel,' I says; 'do you mean you wouldn't
stick at murder?'
"'It's all in the game,' says he, not in the least put out. 'I take my risks,
he takes his. It's no more murder than soldiering is.'
"'It's taking a human creature's life,' I says.
"'Well,' he says, 'what of it? There's plenty more where he comes from.'
"I tried reasoning with him from time to time, but he wasn't a sort of
boy to be moved from a purpose. His mother was the only argument
that had any weight with him. I believe so long as she had lived he
would have kept straight; that was the only soft spot in him. But
unfortunately she died a couple of years later, and then I lost sight of
Joe altogether. I made enquiries, but no one could tell me anything. He
had just disappeared, that's all.
"One afternoon, four years later, I was sitting in the coffee-room of a
City restaurant where I was working, reading the account of a clever
robbery committed the day before. The thief, described as a
well-dressed young man of gentlemanly appearance, wearing a short
black beard and moustache, had walked into a branch of the London
and Westminster Bank during the dinner-hour, when only the manager
and one clerk were there. He had gone straight through to the manager's
room at the back of the bank, taken the key from the inside of the door,
and before the man could get round his desk had locked him in. The
clerk, with a knife to his throat, had then been persuaded to empty all
the loose cash in the bank, amounting in gold and notes to nearly five
hundred pounds, into a bag which the thief had thoughtfully brought
with him. After which, both of them--for the thief seems to have been
of a sociable disposition--got into a cab which was waiting outside, and

drove away. They drove straight to the City: the clerk, with a knife
pricking the back of his neck all the time, finding it, no doubt, a
tiresome ride. In the middle of Threadneedle Street, the gentlemanly
young man suddenly stopped the cab and got out, leaving the clerk to
pay the cabman.
"Somehow or other, the story brought back Joseph to my mind. I
seemed to see him as that well-dressed gentlemanly young man; and,
raising my eyes from the paper, there he stood before me. He had
scarcely changed at all since I last saw him, except that he had grown
better looking, and seemed more cheerful. He nodded to me as though
we had parted the day before, and ordered a chop and a small hock. I
spread a fresh serviette for him, and asked him if he cared to see the
paper.
"'Anything interesting in it, Henry?' says he.
"'Rather a daring robbery committed on the Westminster Bank
yesterday,' I answers.
"'Oh, ah! I did see something about that,' says he.
"'The thief was described as a well-dressed young man of gentlemanly
appearance, wearing