Читать книгу Twenty Years a Detective in the Wickedest City in the World - Clifton R. Wooldridge - Страница 52

The postage stamp grafter is one of the most pestiferous of the "toucher" genus. He bobs up in offices, on the streets, in hotel lobbies, everywhere and at all times. Here is the song he sings:

"I'm broke, mister, but I don't want any money. I am looking for work and have just answered an ad. in the paper, but, to tell the truth, I have only got a nickel, and if I break that to buy a postage stamp I can't get a cup of coffee. Just a 2-cent stamp is all I ask."

It is too small a request to refuse, and besides there is a chance that the fellow may be telling the truth. Anyway, it is only a stamp. You produce the stamp, and may give the "toucher" several stamps so that he can answer more advertisements for work. A half day of industry at this scheme gives any competent "toucher" enough stamps to buy a little food, a good deal of drink and a night's lodging. There is no difficulty in disposing of stamps thus collected, for the salonkeepers and others that buy them—sometimes at a discount—know they have been given, and not stolen.

"You are the third man that has tackled me for a stamp today," said a man in the lobby of a downtown hotel recently to a young man who "wanted to answer an advertisement for work." "Here, give me the letter; I'll stamp and mail it."

Whereupon, to use the vernacular of his kind, the young man made a sensational "getaway" via the side entrance.

Akin to the postage stamp scheme is the one of "touching" for three or some other odd number of pennies to make up the amount necessary "to send a telegram home for money." The "toucher" in this case usually admits frankly that he came to Chicago and got drunk, spending all his money. For victims he picks the men that look like they might sympathize with a fellow in his predicament.