O. Henry

                   A Retrieved Reformation


Файл с книжной полки Несененко Алексея
OCR: Несененко Алексей июнь 2002



A GUARD CAME to the prison shoe-shop, where Jimmy Valentine was 
assiduously stitching uppers, and escorted him to the front office. 
There the warden handed Jimmy his pardon, which had been signed that 
morning by the governor. Jimmy took it in a tired kind of way. He had 
served nearly ten months of a four-year sentence. He had expected to 
stay only about three months, at the longest. When a man with as many 
friends on the outside as Jimmy Valentine had is received in the 
'stir' it is hardly worth while to cut his hair.
   'Now, Valentine,' said the warden, 'you'll go out in the morning. 
Brace up, and make a man of yourself. You're not a bad fellow at 
heart. Stop cracking safes, and live straight.'
   'Me?' said Jimmy in surprise. 'Why, I never cracked a safe in my 
life.'
   'Oh, no,' laughed the warden. 'Of course not. Let's see, now. How 
was it you happened to get sent up on that Springfield job? Was it 
because you wouldn't prove an alibi for fear of compromising somebody 
in extremely high-toned society? Or was it simply a case of a mean old 
jury that had it in for you? It's always one or the other with you 
innocent victims.'
   'Me?' said Jimmy, still blankly virtuous. 'Why, warden, I never was 
in Springfield in my life!'
   'Take him back, Cronin,' smiled the warden, 'and fix him up with 
out-going clothes. Unlock him at seven in the morning, and let him 
come to the bull-pen. Better think over my advice, Valentine.'
   At a quarter past seven on the next morning Jimmy stood in the 
warden's outer office. He had on a suit of the villainously fitting, 
ready-made clothes and a pair of the stiff, squeaky shoes that the 
state furnishes to its discharged compulsory guests.
The clerk handed him a railroad ticket and the five-dollar bill with 
which the law expected him to rehabilitate himself into good 
citizenship and prosperity. The warden gave him a cigar, and shook 
hands. Valentine, 9762, was chronicled on the books 'Pardoned by 
Governor,' and Mr. James Valentine walked out into the sunshine.
   Disregarding the song of the birds, the waving green trees, and the 
smell of the flowers, Jimmy headed straight for a restaurant. There he 
tasted the first sweet joys of liberty in the shape of a broiled 
chicken and a bottle of white wine - followed by a cigar a grade 
better than the one the warden had given him. From there he proceeded 
leisurely to the depot. He tossed a quarter into the hat of a blind 
man sitting by the door, and boarded his train. Three hours set him 
down in a little town near the state line. He went to the cafe of one 
Mike Dolan and shook hands with Mike, who was alone behind the bar.
   'Sorry we couldn't make it sooner, Jimmy, me boy,' said Mike. 'But 
we had that protest from Springfield to buck against, and the governor 
nearly balked. Feeling all right?' 
   'Fine,' said Jimmy. 'Got my key?'
   He got his key and went upstairs, unlocking the door of a room at 
the rear. Everything was just as he had left it. There on the floor 
was still Ben Price's collar-button that had been torn from that 
eminent detective's shirt-band when they had overpowered Jimmy to 
arrest him.
   Pulling out from the wall a folding-bed, Jimmy slid back a panel in 
the wall and dragged out a dust-covered suit-case. He opened this and 
gazed fondly at the finest set of burglar's tools in the East. It was 
a complete set, made of specially tempered steel, the latest designs 
in drills, punches, braces and bits, jimmies, clamps, and augers, with 
two or three novelties invented by Jimmy himself, in which he took 
pride. Over nine hundred dollars they had cost him to have made at -, 
a place where they make such things for the profession.
   In half an hour Jimmy went downstairs and through the cafe. He was 
now dressed in tasteful and well-fitting clothes, and carried his 
dusted and cleaned suit-case in his hand.
   'Got anything on?' asked Mike Dolan, genially.
   'Me?' said Jimmy, in a puzzled tone. 'I don't understand. I'm 
representing the New York Amalgamated Short Snap Biscuit Cracker and 
Frazzled Wheat Company.'
   This statement delighted Mike to such an extent that Jimmy had to 
take a seltzer-and-milk on the spot. He never touched 'hard' drinks.
A week after the release of Valentine, 9762, there was a neat job of 
safe-burglary done in Richmond, Indiana, with no clue to the author. A 
scant eight hundred dollars was all that was secured. Two weeks after 
that a patented, improved, burglar-proof safe in Logansport was opened 
like a cheese to the tune of fifteen hundred dollars, currency; 
securities and silver untouched. That began to interest the rogue-
catchers. Then an old-fashioned bank-safe in Jefferson City became 
active and threw out of its crater an eruption of bank-notes amounting 
to five thousand dollars. The losses were now high enough to bring the 
matter up into Ben Price's class of work. By comparing notes, a 
remarkable similarity in the methods of the burglaries was noticed. 
Ben Price investigated the scenes of the robberies, and was heard to 
remark:
   'That's Dandy Jim Valentine's autograph. He's resumed business. 
Look at that combination knob - jerked out as easy as pulling up a 
radish in wet weather. He's got the only clamps that can do it. And 
look how clean those tumblers were punched out! Jimmy never has to 
drill but one hole. Yes, I guess I want Mr. Valentine. He'll do his 
bit next time without any short-time or clemency foolishness.'
   Ben Price knew Jimmy's habits. He had learned them while working up 
the Springfield case. Long jumps, quick get-aways, no confederates, 
and a taste for good society - these ways had helped Mr. Valentine to 
become noted as a successful dodger of retribution. It was given out 
that Ben Price had taken up the trail of the elusive cracksman, and 
other people with burglar-proof safes felt more at ease.
   One afternoon Jimmy Valentine and his suitcase climbed out of the 
mail-hack in Elmore, a little town five miles off the railroad down in 
the blackjack country of Arkansas. Jimmy, looking like an athletic 
young senior just home from college, went down the board sidewalk 
toward the hotel.
   A young lady crossed the street, passed him at the comer and 
entered a door over which was the sign 'The Elmore Bank.' Jimmy 
Valentine looked into her eyes, forgot what he was, and became another 
man. She lowered her eyes and coloured slightly. Young men of Jimmy's 
style and looks were scarce in Elmore.
   Jimmy collared a boy that was loafing on the steps of the bank as 
if he were one of the stockholders, and began to ask him questions 
about the town, feeding him dimes at intervals. By and by the young 
lady came out, looking royally unconscious of the young man with the 
suit-case, and went her way.
   'Isn't that young lady Miss Polly Simpson?' asked Jimmy, with 
specious guile.
   'Naw,' said the boy. 'She's Annabel Adams. Her pa owns this bank. 
What'd you come to Elmore for? Is that a gold watch-chain? I'm going 
to get a bulldog. Got any more dimes?'
   Jimmy went to the Planters' Hotel, registered as Ralph D. Spencer, 
and engaged a room. He leaned on the desk and declared his platform to 
the clerk. He said he had come to Elmore to look for a location to go 
into business. How was the shoe business, now, in the town? He had 
thought of the shoe business. Was mere an opening?
   The clerk was impressed by the clothes and manner of Jimmy. He, 
himself, was something of a pattern of fashion to the thinly gilded 
youth of Elmore, but he now perceived his shortcomings. While trying 
to figure out Jimmy's manner of tying his four-in-hand he cordially 
gave information.
   Yes, there ought to be a good opening in the shoe line. There
wasn't an exclusive shoe-store in the place. The dry-goods and general 
stores handled them. Business in all lines was fairly good.  Hoped Mr. 
Spencer would decide to locate in Elmore. He would find it a pleasant 
town to live in, and the people very sociable.
   Mr. Spencer thought he would stop over in the town a few days and 
look over the situation. No, the clerk needn't call die boy. He would 
carry up his suit-case himself; it was rather heavy.
   Mr. Ralph Spencer, the phoenix that arose from Jimmy Valentine's 
ashes - ashes left by the flame of a sudden and alterative attack of 
love - remained in Elmore, and prospered. He opened a shoe-store and 
secured a good run of trade. 
   Socially he was also a success, and made many friends. And he 
accomplished the wish of his heart. He met Miss Annabel Adams, and 
became more and more captivated by her charms.
   At the end of a year the situation of Mr. Ralph Spencer was this: 
he had won the respect of the community, his shoe-store was 
flourishing, and he and Annabel were engaged to be married in two 
weeks. Mr. Adams, the typical, plodding, country banker, approved of 
Spencer. Annabel's pride in him almost equalled her affection. He was 
as much at home in the family of Mr. Adams and that of Annabel's 
married sister as if he were already a member.
   One day Jimmy sat down in his room and wrote this letter, which he 
mailed to the safe address of one of his old friends in St. Louis:

DEAR OLD PAL, -

   I want you to be at Sullivan's place, in Little Rock, next 
Wednesday night, at nine o'clock. I want you to wind up some little 
matters for me. And, also, I want to make you a present of my kit of 
tools. I know you'll be glad to get them - you couldn't duplicate the 
lot for a thousand dollars. Say, Billy, I've quit the old business - a 
year ago. I've got a nice store. I'm making an honest living, and I'm 
going to marry the finest girl on earth two weeks from now. It's the 
only life. Billy - the straight one. I wouldn't touch a dollar of 
another man's money now for a million. After I get married I'm going 
to sell out and go West, where there won't be so much danger of having 
old scores brought up against me. I tell you, Billy, she's an angel. 
She believes in me; and I wouldn't do another crooked thing for the 
whole world. Be sure to be at Sully's, for I must see you. I'll bring 
along the tools with me. 
                                        Your old friend,
                                                         JIMMY.

   On the Monday night after Jimmy wrote this letter, Ben Price jogged 
unobtrusively into Elmore in a livery buggy. He lounged about town in 
his quiet way until he found out what he wanted to know. From the 
drug-store across the street from Spencer's shoe-store he got a good 
look at Ralph D. Spencer.
   'Going to marry the banker's daughter, are you, Jimmy?' said Ben to 
himself, softly. 'Well, I don't know!'
   The next morning Jimmy took breakfast at the Adamses. He was going 
to Little Rock that day to order his wedding-suit and buy something 
nice for Annabel. That would be the first time he had left town since 
he came to Elmore. It had been more than a year now since those last 
professional 'Jobs,' and he thought he could safely venture out.
   After breakfast quite a family party went downtown together -Mr. 
Adams, Annabel, Jimmy and Annabel's married sister with her two little 
girls, aged five and nine. They came by the hotel where Jimmy still 
boarded, and he ran up to his room and brought along his suit-case. 
Then they went on to the bank. There stood Jimmy's horse and buggy and 
Dolph Gibson, who was going to drive him over to the railroad station.
   All went inside the high, carved oak railings into the banking-room 
- Jimmy included, for Mr. Adams's future son-in-law was welcome 
anywhere. The clerks were pleased to be greeted by the good-looking, 
agreeable young man who was going to marry Miss Amabel. Jimmy set her 
suit-case down. Annabel, whose heart was bubbling with happiness and 
lively youth, put on Jimmy's hat, and picked up the suit-case. 
'Wouldn't I make a nice drummer?' said |: Annabel. 'My! Ralph, how 
heavy it is? Feels like it was full of gold bricks.'
   'Lot of nickel-plated shoe-homs in there,' said Jimmy coolly, 'that 
I'm going to return. Thought I'd save express charges by taking them 
up. I'm getting awfully economical.'
   The Elmore Bank had just put in a new safe and vault. Mr. Adams was 
very proud of it, and insisted on an inspection by every one. The 
vault was a small one, but it had a new, patented door. It fastened 
with three solid steel bolts thrown simultaneously with a single 
handle, and had a time-lock. Mr. Adams beamingly explained its 
workings to Mr. Spencer, who showed a courteous but not too 
intelligent interest. The two children. May and Agatha, were delighted 
by the shining metal and funny clock and knobs.
   While they were thus engaged Ben Price sauntered in and leaned on 
his elbow, looking casually inside between the railings. He told the 
teller that he didn't want anything; he was just waiting for a man he 
knew.
   Suddenly there was a scream or two from the women, and a commotion. 
Unperceived by the elders, May, the nine-year-old girl, in a spirit of 
play, had shut Agatha in the vault. She had then shot the bolts and 
turned the knob of the combination as she had seen Mr. Adams do.
   The old banker sprang to the handle and tugged at it for a moment.   
'The door can't be opened,' he groaned. 'The clock hasn't been wound 
nor the combination set.'
   Agatha's mother screamed again, hysterically.
   'Hush!' said Mr. Adams, raising his trembling hand. 'All be quiet 
for a moment. Agatha!' he called as loudly as he could. 'Listen to 
me.' During the following silence they could just hear the faint sound 
of the child wildly shrieking in the dark vault in a panic of terror.
   'My precious darling!' wailed the mother. 'She will die of fright! 
Open the door! Oh, break it open! Can't you men do something?'
   'There isn't a man nearer than Little Rock who can open that door,' 
said Mr. Adams, in a shaky voice. 'My God! Spencer, what shall we do? 
That child - she can't stand it long in there. There isn't enough air, 
and, besides, she'll go into convulsions from fright.'
   Agatha's mother, frantic now, beat the door of the vault with her 
hands. Somebody wildly suggested dynamite. Annabel turned to Jimmy, 
her large eyes full of anguish, but not yet despairing. To a woman 
nothing seems quite impossible to the powers of the man she worships.
   'Can't you do something, Ralph - try, won't you?'
   He looked at her with a queer, soft smile on his lips and in his 
keen eyes.
   'Annabel,' he said, 'give me that rose you are wearing, will you?'
   Hardly believing that she heard him aright, she unpinned the bud 
from the bosom of her dress, and placed it in his hand. Jimmy stuffed 
it into his vest-pocket, threw off his coat and pulled up his shirt-
sleeves. With that act Ralph D. Spencer passed away and Jimmy 
Valentine took his place.
   'Get away from the door, all of you,' he commanded, shortly.
   He set his suit-case on the table, and opened it out flat. From 
that time on he seemed to be unconscious of the presence of anyone 
else. He laid out the shining, queer implements swiftly and orderly, 
whistling softly to himself as he always did when at work. In a deep 
silence and immovable, the others watched him as if under a spell.
   In a minute Jimmy's pet drill was biting smoothly into the steel 
door. In ten minutes - breaking his own burglarious record - he threw 
back the bolts and opened the door.
   Agatha, almost collapsed, but safe, was gathered into her mother's 
arms.
   Jimmy Valentine put on his coat, and walked outside the railings 
toward the front door. As he went he thought he heard a faraway voice 
that he once knew call 'Ralph!' But he never hesitated.
   At the door a big man stood somewhat in his way.
   'Hello, Ben!' said Jimmy, still with his strange smile. 'Got around 
at last, have you? Well let's go. I don't know that it makes much 
difference, now.'
   And then Ben Price acted rather strangely.
   'Guess you're mistaken, Mr. Spencer,' he said. 'Don't believe I 
recognize you. Your buggy's waiting for you, ain't it?'
   And Ben Price turned and strolled down the street.