My record was bad, and
whenever there was a robbery or hold-up the police would round up all
the ex-convicts and line us up at headquarters for identification. Give
a dog a bad name and it sticks. I was suspicious; a man that has "done
time" always is; and when the young man said he had clothes for me, I
put him down as one of the "stool pigeons" working in with the police.
Since I'd graduated to the Bowery doing crooked work I imagined every
one was against me. It was a case of "doing" others or they would "do"
me. And I wondered why this man took such an interest in me. The more I
thought the more puzzled I got.
I looked about me. I was in a church; why should he do me any harm? Then
I thought that if I put on the clothes he might slip an Ingersoll watch
into the pocket, let me get on the street, and then shout "Stop,
thief!" I'd be arrested and then it would be away up the river for a
good long bit. However, I'm a pretty good judge of human nature, and I
thought I'd take a chance. It was a fine suit; and I could just see
myself putting it in pawn, so I said I'd take it. But "there's many a
slip 'twixt the cup and lip," and there was a strange slip in my case.
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