# Thubway Tham Rides in Style

Extracted from Detective Story magazine, 6 Jan 1920, pp. 46–52.
Thubway Tham Rides in Style
$^{by}$ Johnston McCulley
Author of the “Terry Trimble” Stories, etc.
AT the well-known touch on his shoulder, Thubway Tham turned slowly and with suspicion in his glance, to find Detective Craddock looking down at him.
“Mutht I thee your ugly fathe every day?” Thubway Tham was eager to know. “You are alwayth takin' the joy out of life.”
“This is a business matter, Tham.”
“You haven't got a thing on me,” Tham declared, with some heat. “I have been walkin' the thtraight and narrow path.”
“You mean you've been riding in the subway regularly, and lifting leathers,” said Craddock; “but that is neither here nor there at the present writing. I did not mean to imply, old-timer, that I wished to remonstrate with you regarding transgressions of your own.”
“You talk like a lecture,” Thubway Tham complained. “Rent a room in Carnegie Hall—rent the whole plathe. Or, all joketh athide, ath the man thaid when he threw down a copy of 'The Theamfitters' Guide to Knowledge,' what ith the meaning of thith burtht of eloquenth?”
"I would a word with you, Tham,” Craddock declared.
“You would? You would a word?” Thubway Tham snorted, glancing around as if to call the trees in Madison Square park to witness that it was not his fault if he held conversation with such an one. “What particular word?” Tham wanted to know, cocking his cap over' one eye and preparing for a possible battle of wits.
“Know a chap who goes under the name of Sly Luke?” Craddock asked.
“It theemth to me that I have heard thuth a name,” Tham admitted.
“Sly Luke, my dear Tham, at present occupies the suite of honor in a hostelry in Chicago.”
“Ith he drunk or crathy?”
“He occupies said suite from compulsion, Tham, and the hostelry is a jail.”
“Oh! I grathp you now.”
“Time was when this Sly Luke put himself outside the pale of the law.”
“Talk thenthe!”
“In other words, Tham, as you know very well, Sly Luke was wanted by the well-known police. Not being satisfied with that, this same Sly Luke played both ends against the middle, if you gather my meaning, and tried to square himself in one quarter by double-crossing some of his pals.”
"I heard about that.”
“In short, Tham, he wasn't an honest crook. He made up to his foes and betrayed his friends and double-crossed them both. Now we have this fine gent in a cell out in Chicago; he was caught on a train going through a suit case not his own.”
“The poor thimp!”
“And despite his photograph he declares that he is not Sly Luke. We never had his finger prints from the old days, unfortunately, and the photo is old and his face has changed to a degree. He claims to be an honest boy gone wrong in a moment of temptation, and seeks to get out on parole. Naturally, we are eager to show up his record.”
“Of courthe!”
“And I am taking to Chicago a couple of men who can swear to his identity. You are one of them, Tham.”
“Ith that tho?”
“It'll give you a chance to help square things with a dishonest crook who betrayed his pals, and it will help me. We can go to work and prove his identity, all right, but it will take time and a lot of trouble. I'll see to it that the lawyer doesn't ask you naughty questions concerning you and your own past life.”
“Me go to Thicago? Oh, my goodneth!”
“In a way, it is your duty, Tham. There are ways of forcing you to go, of course; but how much better would it be for you to come along with me in a friendly fashion and make a sort of pleasure trip out of it! All expenses paid, Tham, and fees for being a witness, A day to go, a day there, and one to come back. That's all. Coming along, Tham?”
Thubway Tham considered for a moment, while he told himself the trip to Chicago would be an excellent break in the monotony of things. He'd go and have a fine vacation at some one else's expense,
“When do we thart?” he asked with an air of resignation.
II.
Craddock had spoken the truth, and Thubway Tham found that, after one day in Chicago, he was free to return to New York and his beloved subway.
Detective Craddock was forced to remain in the western city, however, because of another case.
“You'll have to go back alone, Tham, unless you want to wait a week,” Craddock said. “Get your money, all right?”
“Yeth, thir. And I think I'll go right back,” Tham said. “'Thith climate doeth not agree with me.”
“Well, behave yourself, Tham. There's the ticket office, and you'd better arrange for your reservation. I'll see you later in the Big Town.”
"I thuppothe tho.”
Tham had enjoyed the trip west as much as he had anticipated. But he was anxious to get back, and so he went to the ticket office at once. Almost immediately he discovered several interesting things, principally that the railroads did not seem to care whether they had customers or not, and that getting accommodations in a Pullman eastbound was a task that called for time and patience, and that a man really should have with him a passport and birth certificate.
“Not a thing—not even an upper—in any of to-day's trains,” the man behind the counter told Thubway Tham, glancing through the window the while as if it annoyed him to have atoms of the general public ask questions.
“Do I have to thtay in thith town?” Tham demanded. “Ith that the way tith town growth—you get people here and won't let them get out again? My goodneth! With all the trainth there ith, it theemth to me gettin' a berth ought to be a thinthe. A man'd think I wath tryin' to hire a private car. My goodneth!”
And then Fate stepped in and sent Thubway Tham on a new adventure. There appeared a gentleman who explained rapidly that he had tickets and a compartment on one of the road's famous crack trains, that there was sudden illness in his family, and that the trip was off. He wanted to turn back the tickets, and did; and Thubway Tham found himself with a compartment, Chicago to New York, on a train leaving within the hour.
Tham grumbled a little at the price, but decided it was worth it to get back to New York inside twenty-four hours. He wasn't sure what a compartment was, but he knew it had class and style. He regretted that certain of his cronies would not see him in all his glory.
Like breeds like. Thubway Tham felt suddenly prosperous and prominent. He surrendered his grip to a porter and followed him down the track beside the famous train. Another porter took the grip, and Tham tipped the first royally and followed the second aboard.
The porter opened a door and ushered Tham into the compartment, bowed, and retired. Tham closed the door and scratched at his head. The way he understood it, he had this entire apartment to himself. It was exclusive, and all that, yet Tham yearned to mingle with the throng. Then he remembered that there was a club car ahead, and that he could go there when he wished.
The train started, and Thubway Tham, sitting close to the window, reveled in a vista of smoke, cinders, chimneys, and cluttered factory yards. Presently the door opened, and Tham turned his head to find a maid standing in it.
“Ladies in the party?” she asked.
“No,” Tham growled.
She bowed and stepped out, closing the door after her. Tham turned to the window again. Once more the door opened; this time it was the porter.
“May I be of any assistance, sir?” the porter asked.
Before Tham could answer, he began being of assistance. He put Tham's overcoat on a hanger, brushed Tham's hat, enclosed it in a paper sack, turned off the heat and turned on the fan, flecked a speck of dust from the wash basin, rubbed fitfully at the mirror over it, bowed, and retired.
“My goodneth!” said Tham sighing.
There was quiet for a time, and then the conductor entered. He bowed before Tham and examined his tickets, took them up, and gave him a claim check.
“I trust that you are comfortable, and that everything is satisfactory,” the conductor said.
“Everything ith all right,” Tham admitted.
The conductor disappeared quickly and silently, and Thubway Tham scratched at his head and sought for words to express what he felt. There was one word, and one only, that seemed to fit.
“Clath!" he muttered, then repeated: “Clath!”
He had purchased a newspaper before boarding the train, and now he began glancing it over. The door opened again. A man stood before Tham, notebook and pencil in hand,
“Your name, please, in case there is a telegram,” this personage said.
“There will be no telegram,” Tham declared.
“Your name, then, for the list, in case you have friends aboard. Of course, sir, if you are incognito——”
Tham could not remember what “incognito” meant, and so he merely looked mysterious. The man with the notebook bowed.
"I understand, sir. Sorry to have bothered you,” he said, and retired quickly. Outside, he met the porter of the car. “Who's that bird in there?” he whispered. “I've seen his picture in the papers, all right, and he seems to be working his brain overtime. Wants to be incognito—wouldn't give me his name.”
The porter looked as if he knew but could not tell, and immediately began considering Thubway Tham. The porter wondered whether he was overlooking a bet. Tham did not look particularly prosperous or appear like a famous man, but one never can tell. The porter had known millionaires who looked like tramps, and eccentric famous people who had been given to their little mannerisms. He would pay particular attention to the compartment occupied by Thubway Tham.
Tham came out at that juncture, and the porter hurried forward.
“Ith the club car ahead?” Tham asked.
“Yes, sir.” The porter walked the entire length of the car, opened the door, bowed as if before royalty, and held the door back while Thubway Tham passed out.
Tham soon reached the club car and found there was no vacant seat. In one corner a business man was dictating to a stenographer. In another four men were playing cards. Tham looked on for a time and decided that he did not know the game. He managed to get a chair, presently, and went on looking at his newspaper.
“Clath!” he muttered, once or twice. “Juth clath!”
Yet Tham felt uncomfortable in this atmosphere. These men appeared as if riding on a crack train was an everyday affair with them. They did not seem to appreciate their surroundings, Thubway Tham thought.
And then he began speculating professionally. These men were of the sort that carry fat wallets. Thubway Tham found himself wishing that this was a subway train just pulling into some busy station, and that he could do his nefarious work. But he put all such thoughts aside. He had learned years before that the subway was lucky for him, and that other places were inclined to harbor disaster.
Tham journeyed the length of the train to the diner, after a time, and enjoyed an excellent meal. And then he went back to his compartment. The porter had been busy removing invisible specks of dust. He sprang forward and opened the door when Tham appeared.
“If you would like your suit sponged and pressed, sir, just put it outside on the railing,” the porter said.
Thubway Tham scratched at his head again. Class! After all, when a man got a compartment, he got something. The service was worth the money, Tham decided; and the porter was a good one.
Tham put his suit outside that night, and his shoes also, and turned in to sleep well. In the morning he found his suit pressed as well as it could have been, and his shoes had a heavy polish. Tham shaved and dressed with care.
“That ith a good porter, and he ith goin' to get a good tip,” Tham mumbled. He sat close to the window, after eating breakfast, and looked at the river. Tham was commencing to feel at home. An hour more, and he would be in the subway, bound downtown. He would sniff its peculiar odor again, see the jostling crowds, hear the racket of the rushing trains. He would be home.
The train neared the station. The porter came for his bag, carried it forward, and returned to brush Tham's clothes and hold his overcoat for him. Tham was glad for the excellent porter. He had a burst of generosity. The service was worthy of reward, Tham decided. He felt in a waistcoat pocket, extracted two dollar bills, and handed them to the servitor, receiving generous thanks.
“That ith not tho bad,” Tham reflected. “He prethed my thuit and thined my thoeth. It would cotht me that muth in town. Thith ith a great life!”
Tham glanced from the window again, and found that the train was almost in. He got up and walked to the door, opened it, and stepped out into the passageway. The porter stopped before him in an attitude of apology.
“Beg pardon, sir—but the suit,” he said. “A dollar and a half, sir.”
“Oh!” grunted Thubway Tham. He found the change and handed it over, and the porter went on with his collecting. Thubway Tham grunted again. He had not expected to pay for the suit. Had he anticipated such a thing, he would not have given the porter that two dollars.
He saw the maid walking along the passageway, and saw several women hand her tips. Tham had not needed her services, yet she paused before him suggestively. He would have looked away, but was aware of the fact that several persons in the car were watching him. He handed the maid half a dollar, and grunted again.
“It ith a great graft,” Thubway Tham told himself. “I am glad that I am an honeth pickpocket. Thethe birdth would make a burglar bluth for thame. I with I could get me a job on tith train. Liftin' leatherth ith thlow work.”
Another man came bustling along the passageway, he of the pencil and note-book. Tham observed that the passengers tipped him, and turned back into the compartment. But it availed him nothing. The man with the notebook entered.
“List fee, please, sir,” he said.
“What ith that?” Tham demanded.
“Fifty cents, please, sir.”
“You did not put my name on that litht,” Thubway Tham reminded him.
“No, sir. You are incognito, sir. But the list was in the club car, sir, for you to read.”
Tham handed over another half dollar. He felt his anger rising. Great graft, he reminded himself again. Paying fourteen or fifteen dollars for a compartment for twenty-four hours was not a receipt, he decided. It was paying for the privilege of handing out change endlessly. It cost money to ride in style.
The train stopped, and Tham went forward and descended to the platform. A porter tore his bag from his hand and hurried away with it, and Tham spurted after him.
“Taxi, sir?” the porter threw over his shoulder.
“No, thir!” Tham growled. He was on his own ground now, and bravery returned to him. “Thubway!”
“Subway, sir?” the porter asked, in great surprise. His manner of saying it indicated plainly that the subway was used only for cattle and hogs.
“I thaid the thubway and I meant the thubway!” Tham declared. “I did not thay the elevated, nor the thurface car, nor a taxi. I thaid the thubway. You get me?”
“Yes, sir. Here is your bag, sir.” The porter surrendered it as though it had been contamination, and looked at Tham suspiciously.
“And how much,” Tham asked, “do you think you are goin' to graft off me for carryin' that bag fifty feet? Here ith a half dollar, and you are cheatin' me out of forty-eight thenth. I hope you are a member of the crookth' union in good thtanding. Let me tell you thomething, boy—never let me catch any of thith gang below Fourteenth Thtreet. That ith all—thtay away from my end of town. You'll be tho much ahead if you do!”
His face purpled with anger, Thubway Tham went on toward the subway platform. He felt that he had been done, and it just had occurred to him that possibly all the attendants on the train had been playing him for an easy thing. The thought disturbed him.
“Every man to hith own game,” said Tham. “Maybe I am a crook, but I am no hold-up man. After thith, when I want to ride in one of them compartmenth, I'll buy a private car. It ith cheaper.”
He reached the platform and waited for a downtown train. Once more he felt the well-known touch on his shoulder, and, knowing that Detective Craddock remained in Chicago, whirled around with some surprise in his face. It was another detective who knew him.
“Been taking a little trip?” the officer wanted to know.
“Thicago,” said Tham, as a man who admits a weakness.
“Business or pleasure? Got anything in that grip that would interest me, Tham?”
Tham put the grip down and rested his fists against his hips. He shot his jaw forward in a pugnacious manner.
“Thay!” he declared. “You make me thick! I have been in Thicago, you ath, on buthineth. I have been there with Craddock ath a witneth in the cathe of Thly Luke. Craddock had to thtay there for another cathe, and I came home alone. And if you thtart petherin' me, I'll thee the commithioner about it. It ith your job to look for crookth, tho why wathte your time with me when there ith Pullman porterth thick around thith plathe? You want to thee a real crook? You want to lamp the finetht collection of crookth that ever held a convention? Then you thtand right here and watch all the burglarth that run on thothe trains. When it cometh to bein' crookth, they have all the clath in the world. I'll thay tho!”
“You seem to be peeved, Tham.”
“Who? Me? I'll thay I'm peeved! I don't even like to talk about it,” Tham declared. “And I don't want to be peththered by you.”
“All right, old boy, just so I understand what you're doing around the station here. I happen to know that you went to Chicago with Craddock. Did they stick Sly Luke?”
“I didn't wait to thee,” Tham declared, as if he didn't care to tell this fellow all he knew. “I wanted to get back to town.”
“Well, watch your step. It is a peculiar thing, Tham, but some men hate to have their wallets stolen.”
“Thay! Just becauthe I wath thent up the river onthe——”
“Cut the comedy!” the detective advised and moved on through the crowd.
Tham's talk with the detective had caused him to miss several downtown expresses, and now he decided to wait for another. A local, Tham felt, could not travel with sufficient speed to suit him at present. He stood back from the track, his bag between his feet, watching the crowd. He had no intention of “working”; he wanted to get home to his room. To-morrow he would go forth and seek victims.
But a job was thrust upon him. A fresh crowd surged forward, and Thubway Tham looked it over. And he saw the porter of the car in which he had ridden from Chicago to New York. Moreover, it appeared that the porter was intending to ride downtown.
Thubway Tham looked at him well. To say that he was fashionably dressed would be inaccurate—the mode of the moment was his. Thubway Tham told himself that the porter looked like a million dollars, and that he did not see why he shouldn't.
And then thoughts of revenge came to Thubway Tham. He worked nearer the porter, and when the downtown express arrived, Tham boarded it half a dozen feet behind the other man. He was glad to find that the car was crowded.
“It would be juthtith to get hith roll,” Tham declared to himself. “He ith a crook of the wortht thort. He robth men and women right and left, the ath! He potheth ath an honetht man, and he ith the biggeth robber unhung, the thimp!”
Thubway Tham made his way forward until he stood just in the rear of his prospective victim. He could tell by the porter's manner that he did not intend leaving the train soon. That pleased Tham, for he liked to do his work far downtown if it was at all possible.
The porter did not turn around. Tham managed to brush against him, and discovered that the porter carried a wallet in his hip pocket. That was an invitation, the way Thubway Tham looked at it. Any man who carried a wallet in a hip pocket, Tham thought, was openly requesting every dip in town to obtain possession of it.
Below Union Square, the porter acted as if he intended leaving the train. Tham crowded forward again until he was pressing against his victim. The porter grasped the grip he carried and moved toward the door, with Tham at his heels.
The station was reached, the door was opened. Those inside the car jammed forward to the platform. Thubway Tham's hand made a quick movement, and the wallet of the porter was in a pocket of Tham's coat. He went on past his victim and hurried up to the street.
“The thimp!” Tham growled. “It ith a pleathure to touth that man. I hope there ith hith month'th wageth in that leather. 'The thuit, thir—a dollar and a half, thir!' Ath!”
Thubway Tham hurried down the street. and to the lodging house he called home. The former convict who ran it greeted him warmly and asked after the fate of Sly Luke. Tham told the lodging house keeper his trip to Chicago had been a failure, from Craddock's point of view, for he couldn't identify the person called Sly Luke. As he hurried on to his room, he winked knowingly, and the ex-convict understood. Tham wouldn't have gone back on one of his craft for any consideration.
Up in his room, he flung his hat on the bed, and locked the door. He pulled the wallet from his pocket.
It felt like a fat wallet. Tham grinned as he turned back the flap and prepared to count the bills he was sure it contained. An instant later he gave a grunt of huge disgust.
The wallet contained a Pullman porter's report blanks, and nothing more. Tham hurled it the length of the room.
“Thtung!” he hissed. “And by a thimp! I hope he hath theven yearth of bad luck, the thiliy ath! And I hope I have the thame if I ever ride in a compartment again. 'The thuit, thir—a dollar and a half, thir!' I muth be gettin' old like Craddock thaid!”
Tham kicked at the wallet, then opened the window and threw it down into the alley. His heart was filled with bitterness. It was a world of greed and graft, he told himself, in which an ordinary decent crook could not hope to exist without being victimized.
“To think that the polithe would bother me,” he mused, “and not go after porterth! It ith a thame! Juth for that I'll go out to-morrow and lift a dothen leatherth. And if Craddock ever geth me to Thicago again, he'll have to uthe a thrait-jacket. It ith a rotten world!”
This work is in the public domain in the United States because it was published before January 1, 1929.
The longest-living author of this work died in 1958, so this work is in the public domain in countries and areas where the copyright term is the author's life plus 65 years or less. This work may be in the public domain in countries and areas with longer native copyright terms that apply the rule of the shorter term to foreign works.
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