Traffic in Souls: A Novel of Crime and Its Cure - Ball Eustace Hale

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      Traffic in Souls: A Novel of Crime and Its Cure

      "What has man done here? How atone,

      Great God, for this which man has done?

      And for the body and soul which by

      Man's pitiless doom must now comply

      With lifelong hell, what lullaby

      Of sweet forgetful second birth

      Remains? All dark. No sign on earth

      What measure of God's rest endows

      The Many mansions of His house.

      "If but a woman's heart might see

      Such erring heart unerringly

      For once! But that can never be.

      "Like a rose shut in a book

      In which pure women may not look,

      For its base pages claim control

      To crush the flower within the soul;

      Where through each dead roseleaf that clings,

      Pale as transparent psyche-wings,

      To the vile text, are traced such things

      As might make lady's cheek indeed

      More than a living rose to read;

      So nought save foolish foulness may

      Watch with hard eyes the sure decay;

      And so the lifeblood of this rose,

      Puddled with shameful knowledge flows

      Through leaves no chaste hand may unclose;

      Yet still it keeps such faded show

      Of when 'twas gathered long ago,

      That the crushed petals' lovely grain,

      The sweetness of the sanguine stain,

      Seen of a woman's eyes must make

      Her pitiful heart, so prone to ache,

      Love roses better for its sake: —

      Only that this can never be: —

      Even so unto her sex is she!

      "Yet, Jenny, looking long at you,

      The woman almost fades from view.

      A cipher of man's changeless sum

      Of lust, past, present, and to come,

      Is left. A riddle that one shrinks

      To challenge from the scornful sphinx.

      "Like a toad within a stone

      Seated while Time crumbles on;

      Which sits there since the earth was curs'd

      For Man's transgression at the first;

      Which, living through all centuries,

      Not once has seen the sun arise;

      Whose life, to its cold circle charmed,

      The earth's whole summers have not warmed;

      Which always – whitherso the stone

      Be flung – sits there, deaf, blind, alone; —

      Aye, and shall not be driven out

      'Till that which shuts him round about

      Break at the very Master's stroke,

      And the dust thereof vanished as smoke,

      And the seed of Man vanished as dust: —

      Even so within this world is Lust!"

– From "Jenny," by Dante Gabriel Rosetti.

      CHAPTER I

      NIGHT COURT

      Officer 4434 beat his freezing hands together as he stood with his back to the snow-laden north-easter, which rattled the creaking signboards of East Twelfth Street, and covered, with its merciful shroud of wet flakes, the ash-barrels, dingy stoops, gaudy saloon porticos and other architectural beauties of the Avenue corner.

      Officer 4434 was on "fixed post."

      This is an institution of the New York police department which makes it possible for citizens to locate, in time of need, a representative of the law. At certain street crossings throughout the boroughs bluecoats are assigned to guard-duty during the night, where they can keep close watch on the neighboring thoroughfares. The "fixed post" increases the efficiency of the service, but it is a bitter ordeal on the men.

      Officer 4434 shivered under his great coat. He pulled the storm hood of his cap closer about his neck as he muttered an opinion, far from being as cold as the biting blast, concerning the Commissioner who had installed the system. He had been on duty over an hour, and even his sturdy young physique was beginning to feel the strain of the Arctic temperature.

      "I wonder when Maguire is coming to relieve me?" muttered 4434, when suddenly his mind left the subject, as his keen vision descried two struggling figures a few yards down the dark side of Twelfth Street.

      There was no outcry for help. But 4434 knew his precinct too well to wait for that. He quietly walked to the left corner and down toward the couple. As he neared them the mist of the eddying snowflakes became less dense; he could discern a short man twisting the arm of a tall woman, who seemed to be top heavy from an enormous black-plumed hat. The faces of the twain were still indistinct. The man whirled the woman about roughly. She uttered a subdued moan of pain, and 4434, as he softly approached them, his footfalls muffled by the blanket of white, could hear her pleading in a low tone with the man.

      "Aw, kid, I ain't got none … I swear I ain't… Oh, oh … ye know I wouldn't lie to ye, kid!"

      "Nix, Annie. Out wid it, er I'll bust yer damn arm!"

      "Jimmie, I ain't raised a nickel to-night … dere ain't even a sailor out a night like dis… Oh, oh, kid, don't treat me dis way…"

      Her voice died down to a gasp of pain.

      Officer 4434 was within ten feet of the couple by this time. He recognized the type though not the features of the man, who had now wrenched the woman's arm behind her so cruelly that she had fallen to her knees, in the snow. The fellow was so intent upon his quest for money that he did not observe the approach of the policeman.

      But the woman caught a quick glimpse of the intruder into their "domestic" affairs. She tried to warn her companion.

      "Jimmie, dere's a…"

      She did not finish, for her companion wished to end further argument with his own particular repartee.

      He swung viciously with his left arm and brought a hard fist across the woman's pleading lips. She screamed and sank back limply.

      As she did so, Officer 4434 reached forward with a vise-like grip and closed his tense fingers about the back of Jimmie's muscular neck. Holding his night stick in readiness for trouble, with that knack peculiar to policemen, he yanked the tough backward and threw him to his knees. Annie sprang to her feet.

      "Lemme go!" gurgled the surprised Jimmie, as he wriggled to get free. Without a word, the woman who had been suffering from his brutality, now sprang upon the rescuing policeman with the fury of a lioness robbed of her cub. She clawed at the bluecoat's face and cursed him with volubility.

      "I'll git you broke fer this!" groaned Jimmie, as 4434 held him to his knees, while Annie tried to get her hold on the officer's neck. It was a temptation to swing the night-stick, according to the laws of war, and then protect himself against the fury of the frenzied woman. But, this is an impulse which the policeman is trained to subdue – public opinion on the subject to the contrary notwithstanding.

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