An Act of Charity
There were six of us, enough to make a sextette, and when we thought of the wasted years we spent before we knew one another, it made us sad. We spent the greater part of our time at one another’s homes, and we usually had a great deal to talk about. For this reason, my mother decided that she would give us the house for two weeks. She said we could do as we pleased, but we had to do all the cooking and house cleaning.
Early in April the other five girls came to my house to have a good time. In all the world there is not another bunch of girls who can accumulate more experiences to the square inch than we of the “Sextette.” Helen even brought her dog with her. He was a beautiful dog, and as we could observe, had only two faults. One was that he was such a friendly soul that he would even hobnob with a burglar, and the other that he sometimes stayed away two weeks at a time. Thus we called him Dynamite, not because of any energy or character, but because he was likely to go off at any time.
One night, when a few callers dropped in, we had a merry chafing dish supper. When they had gone, we sat down to talk things over. During the conversation, Dorothy, a very kind and sympathetic girl, suggested that we give a dinner, and instead of giving it for our own pleasure and that of our friends, we would give it to some of the poor unfortunates, who never had any pleasures. We all agreed to do this, and each was to invite a poor unfortunate one as her guest. Helen and I were to prepare the dinner, and Ruth, Edyth and Dorothy were to arrange and decorate the other rooms of the house.
The first guest to arrive was Mrs. Craig, a janitress in the office building where Dorothy’s father had his office. Next came Helen’s guest, a little newsboy that sold papers in the block where Helen lived. Then Dr. Lyons, who was Ruth’s guest, arrived. He explained that as he was lonesome for warmth and cheer of a real home table, instead of the cold glitter and ceremonious services of the hotel, Ruth took pity on him, and invited him to our jolly little party. I don’t know what we would have done without him, for he had that tact which comes from knowing and loving people, and he knew just how to fill in the awkward pauses, which were bound to occur in such a mixed gathering. Edyth selected for her guest an old man, whom she found lying on a bench in Swope Park. His scraggly hair and beard, and his smoked glasses left a very little of his face visible, but there was a suggestion of strength and firmness about his mouth. I selected for my guest a poor little cripple girl who stayed all alone at home, while her mother worked hard every day.
Well, the dinner was a success, and we girls felt fully repaid for the little sacrifice we had made. Everyone responded to all the fun but Edyth’s little old man, who gave his name as “just plain Mr. Jones.” Everyone enjoyed himself, and the party didn’t break up until late in the afternoon. As we were expecting other company in the evening, we started to put on our jewelry, which we had taken off for the dinner, because we didn’t think it looked well to wear diamonds and other precious stones when our guests were so poorly clad. I had not thought of my locket until the first guest had arrived, so I had placed it in a vase on the dining room mantel. Now I slipped my hand into the vase, and horrors! It was gone! All was confusion as we rushed around looking everywhere, for we could not bear to think that anyone, who had sat at our table and enjoyed our hospitality, would play the part of a thief.
As we were excitedly discussing the pros and cons in the case the bell rang, and Dorothy ushered in a stranger. He was a man of some thirty-five years, with a frank face and a firm jaw. He leaned against the wall and said:
“I come to bring a message from an old man, whom you so kindly befriended this morning. He wishes you to know the truth about him, for with all his faults and sins, he finds that he still has a spark of manhood. He is the great robber, “Desperate Jim,” in his latest disguise. All the authorities are searching for him. He came to your home, and while he sat at your table so silently his mind was torn by conflicting emotions. At one moment he felt like standing up, taking off his disguise and confessing everything and see if there was yet a chance for him to be a man. He noticed that, in passing the mantel, one of the young ladies glanced in the vase, and he surmised that it must contain some valuables. He saw what it was, and took it.”
From his inner pocket he drew out a parcel, saying, “Desperate Jim” told me to tell you that he regrets that he returned theft for hospitality and faith, and to express his gratitude that you have made him feel that he may yet make something of his life. Take this, and good night, young ladies, and God bless you.”
As he turned to leave, his hat fell to the floor and when he reached for it I saw a dark scar on his wrist, a scar just such as I had noticed on the wrist of the old man who called himself “just plain Mr. Jones,” and I knew that the old man and this one were one and the same person.
As soon as the door was closed I told my mother and the girls what I had discovered and they were quite ready to call me Sherlock Holmes II. We talked the matter over wildly and enthusiastically. We knew it was our duty to ’phone to police headquarters and put them on the track of the outlaw, but in some way we wanted to give him the opportunity of reforming. Every little while we wondered what had happened to our reformed burglar. But a few days later Ruth came in, waving a paper frantically and calling excitedly, “Come, girls! Listen!” In a minute we were all there looking over her shoulders and trying to get a glimpse of the paper with the startling headlines: “The Capture of Desperate Jim.”