The Cotton Factory Times. — 1888-07-06 (Manchester, Greater Manchester, England)

OOO. As it will be some time before the money comes, I won't dare let go of the few shillings I have in my pocket." "You doubt me," he exclaimed, as he half rose up. "On, no, sir; but our lay happens to be the same. I'm on the confidence racket myself." " What I" " Sure's shooting. I've got my eye on that old chap over in tho corner, and if I can't wheedle him out of a hundred to-day or to morrow I'm going to break into his room at night. Say, I believe there's boodle to be had in this town. If I can only find a man with nerve enough to cut a man's throat while I hold his arms, I believe—" "Villain 1" he hissed as he rose up. "Oh, come off I" " I want nothing to do with you." "Oh, you don't. Well, you can go your way, then. I don't chum with spring chickens. A man who is afraid of a little bloodletting to carry out a robbery or burglary had better turn to clotheslines or hencoops. Good day, sir. I won't give you away, but don't come near me again." Two days later a woman came to me in tears. She was a good-looking, well-dressed woman, which made it all the nicer. She had noticed my honest countenance from afar off, and had finally made up her mind to come to me with her story. She was a deserted bride. She had run away to marry the man she thought she loved, and in a week he had given her the cold shake. If she could borrow money to get home on it would be returned by telegraph. Had I a sister? If so she might be in the same unpleasant predicament some day. It was an awful thing to have to appeal to a stranger, but she saw no other way. When she got through I told her my story. I told her that my right name was the St. Louis Kidd, and that I was in hiding while a murder could blow over. I was a bank sneak, robber, burglar and confidence operator, but was just then in hard luck. While I couldn't give her any money I could advise with her. Why not try pocket-picking? She had a hand just fitted for the work. "You—you scowldroll" she gasped at me. "Oh! you won't, hey? Then try a confidence operation." "You ought to be in prison, sir." "Certainly, but I'm going to keep out as long as possible. Let's see; can you play poker ?" She rose up and flounced off, mad as a wet heu, and saying I ought to be horsewhipped, but two weeks later as I wandered in court at Atlantic City one day, she was in the box charged with robbery. I caught her eye and signed for her not to give use away, and she signalled back that she wouldn't. I shall never forget her kindness.  Mr. Cross, the famous animal painter, says that when he was a boy he once witnessed a fight between two dogs, one of which belonged to an Irishman who was a retired prize-fighter. The Irishman's dog was badly whipped, and the fact was a source of deep chagrin to the owner. He was very jealous of his dog's record, but as only he and Cross had seen the fight, he asked Cross, in a decided significant way, which of the dogs whipped. "Why," said Cross, "your dog whipped, of course. He was underneath the other dog, but he was chewing the life out of the cur all the time." "That's roight," said the Irishman, "you have saved your life."