The Right Way to Do Wrong (12 page)

As they drive homeward a confederate will appear who stops the carriage to make some inquiry. The three enter into conversation and good-natured chaffing leads up to a proposal of some game of cards or bet. The farmer is induced to take a hand, the first swindler offering to put up his half of the stake. When the two “partners”—the farmer and the first swindler—have won a large sum the loser asks for proof of their ability to make good their stake. The first swindler produces the cash, and the farmer drives with him to the next town to draw his money out of the bank to make good his claim.

Now comes the rapid denouncement. The first
swindler asks the farmer to oblige him by taking charge of all the money, including the money with which he is to buy the farm, until he can return and close the bargain. The countryman, naturally pleased at this confidence, is induced to put his own money in the same convenient tin box which the stranger has ready. At that point the stranger and the farmer part. The former to parts unknown, the latter with his precious tin box under his arm, and when he gets home he finds, instead of money, that the box is filled only with heavy folded papers to give it the same weight. A rapid shift has been made before his eyes without his detecting it; his money is gone, and two adroit scoundrels are far away.

Among the most famous (or infamous) bunco men of this country are Tom O'Brien, mentioned above, William Raymond, “Doc” Mincheon, George Post, William Barracks, Lewis Ludlow, and Clay Wilson. O'Brien is serving a life sentence for murder, but Post is supposed to be still at his old tricks.

Jacob Sindheim, alias “Al” Wise, has a star game. His lay is to persuade a gullible person that he has a secret process by means of which genuine gold coins can be “sweated” or robbed of a portion of their gold, by a certain solution, without impairing their appearance. Several times he has induced speculative individuals without conscience, to construct tanks in the basement of their houses and put in from $10,000 to $20,000 in gold pieces for treatment. Twenty days are to be required for the process. Before that time he removes all the gold, which it is needless to say has lost not a grain of its weight, and makes his escape. The victim, after getting tired of waiting, opens the tank to find a liberal deposit
of paving-stones instead of gold coins. Then he wakes up.

If men did not try and get something for nothing they might often be able to retain that which they have.

One of the latest dodges of a bunco nature is a bogus express company which caters to those who never receive packages by express, but who want to. In a large room above its showy office a force of skilled workmen are employed, manufacturing bundles and filling them with old bricks and newspapers.

The express company, having made up a convincing-looking parcel, sends out a postal card to its prospective victim on which it says:

The fact that the express company has written to him at his address to ask him what his address is does not strike the victim as strange. The “company” does it in order that it may get in writing from Mr. Steiner a request to deliver the package, thus making him its debtor to the extent of the “express charges,” usually $2.

THE GAME OF WITS

When the corn-husking is over and the county fairs begin their annual three and four-day sessions in a thousand
agricultural centers, a silent army of confidence men and swindlers make ready for their richest harvest of the year! The county fairs are rich fields for their particular work, and they intend to make the most of their opportunities.

The three-shell-game man has been a feature of such gatherings from time immemorial. The game in some form or other has been played ever since Rome was founded. Three half walnut shells or metal covers are used and a small and exceedingly lively pea made of soft rubber. The gaping yokel is invited to pick the shell under which the “pea” reposes. The clever manipulator tosses it from one to another, then, with an apparent awkward twist, seems to throw it under a certain one. The rustic backs his opinion with his coin. The shells are lifted. The former was mistaken and pays for his experience.

It is only another case of where the manipulation of the hand deceives the eye. They say that a new “sucker” is born every minute. Certain it is that this old game finds its dupes as plentiful as in the days of our grandfathers. The callow youth of today is willing to bet his last cent that he can put his finger on the shell that covers the “pea” for he has seen it put there!

But if the unsuspecting countryman is an easy mark for cheats at his county fairs, he is often even more “accessible” when he comes to the city. The following story from the New York
Telegraph
is especially good on account of its breezy style and true-to-life description of the methods of the quick-witted gentry. The story is entitled:

W
AS
K
IND
T
O
S
TRANGERS

Here is another adroit swindle that might almost be considered better than a gold brick.

Some time ago a young fellow with a violin under his arm entered a market-place in one of our large cities, made his purchase, and then found himself short of money. However, he offered the fiddle as security, while he fetched the necessary amount of cash. Scarcely had he left the place when a well-dressed man entered and saw the fiddle on the counter. He examined it and cried out that it was a Stradivarius.

“Why, I'll give you $300 for it,” he said. The shopkeeper refused to sell it without consulting the owner, and the second stranger went away leaving five dollars for the refusal of the treasure. Presently, the first rogue returned, was informed of the offer, and said he would agree, providing the tradesman would give him $150 down. The victim complied, and neither of the swindlers ever returned. The fiddle was worth about $1.50.

But don't get the idea that farmers and small shopkeepers are the only prey of the bunco man, the swindler and the confidence man. A city man on a farm the first time and trying to run it, is of a greener green than a farmer in a city buying gold bricks. Here are some games successfully played on the dwellers in cities.

THE CLEVER “SOFA GAME”

Of all the men who live by their wits, the English crook who conceived and carried into successful execution the so-called “sofa game” certainly deserves the palm. So ingenious, so daring, and yet so simple, is this scheme that it deserves a special description. The reader will notice that it partakes both of the nature of a confidence game and a first-class burglary job.

The game requires the cooperation of several members of a gang, one of whom must be a boy or a young man of small stature and slender physique. Sometimes a young woman is employed, who, if discovered, throws herself upon the mercy of the householder. The gang first selects the residence of some wealthy citizen. If inside information about the silver and jewels to be looted can be secured, so much the better. The habits of the members of the family are closely observed and then at an hour when the fewest possible people are at home the plan is put into execution.

This is what happens:

A furniture wagon drives up to the house and a well-dressed man of respectable appearance and plausible address rings the front-door bell. The door is opened, the following conversation ensues:

“Is this the residence of Mr. John Rahner?”

“Yes, but Mr. Rahner is not at home.”

“Dear, dear, that is unfortunate! But, however, it does not matter. I have been commissioned as chairman of a committee of the Dearborn Lodge (naming some order to which the householder actually belongs) to present
Mr. Rahner with this beautiful sofa (indicating an imposing piece of furniture on the wagon). Shall my men bring it in?”

“Why, yes, if you are sure this is the right place.”

“No mistake about that, Madam; Mr. Rahner is greatly esteemed by the members of the lodge and this gift is to be a complete surprise!”

So in the sofa is carried and deposited in a place of honor in the drawing-room. The polite “lodge member” depreciating all thanks departs and the team drives away.

A few hours later the polite stranger reappears in hot haste and the wagon drives up again. He is profuse in his apologies, but an error has been made.

“So unfortunate! So sorry to inconvenience you, but do you know I have made such a stupid blunder about the address—the sofa is to go to Brother John Rahner, of South Main Street, instead of North Main Street. Would it be too much bother to allow my men to enter and take it away? We are very anxious to deliver it before Brother Rahner returns, as it is a surprise for him!”

Of course, there is nothing to be done but let the beautiful sofa go, and, amid the apologies and excuses of the polite stranger, the sofa is again carried forth to the wagon and is driven away. The polite stranger also disappears, and, it is needless to say, is seen no more in that part of the town.

The next act on the program is the startling discovery that the house has been robbed of, perhaps, many thousands of dollars' worth of jewels and silver. How was it done?

The explanation is very simple. The sofa is specially constructed with a hollow compartment of considerable
size. Inside a girl has been concealed, who, when the sofa is left alone, quietly comes out and ransacks the place and retreats with her plunder into this convenient hiding-place. Girl, plunder, and sofa are then all carried away together and the thieves make good their escape without delay.

This is a new game, and, as I say, has been worked with many variations and usually with success in almost every city in England and on the continent.

FAKE! FAKE! FAKE!

There are certain classes of men, and women, too, who, while not actually criminal, are yet so close to the boundary line in their practices as to need some special mention in this book. Take, for instance, the many so-called “divine” or mental healers, who pretend to cure all sorts of diseases by the laying on of hands or simply absent treatment, or the old-style patent medicine fraud who retailed sweetened and colored water under some high-sounding name, as Dr. So and So's Elixir and Tonic, from the tail-end of a cart, after having attracted a crowd of the curious with a lecture or open-air minstrel show.

“Far be it for me” to decry the actual healing and curative value of many excellent proprietary medicines and preparations on the market today. But among the good there are many that are worthless, and I should advise my readers to take such “remedies” only on the advice of their family physician.

The fake “doctor” is still with us, and his advertisements are often to be seen in the newspapers of America.
They usually advertise under some honest-sounding name, and assume all the titles and learned degrees of two continents. Some are actually physicians, and, failing in the regular practice, have set out to make a living by deluding suffering humanity. It would be amusing, if it were not sorrowful, to see the crowds of patients who bring their ailments to such “doctors.” The game is to give the sufferer some relief at first, in order to encourage him, and then prolong his case through many weary weeks and months, until they have gotten all the money he can afford to spend. Such doctors usually call themselves “specialists,” but their real specialty is in extorting money from their dupes, and my advice is to keep as far away from them as possible.

Thanks to the energetic efforts of the authorities many, if not all, of these practitioners have been driven out, and it is to be hoped that such tragedies as that unearthed in the Susan Geary case will be rare in the future.

The case of Francis Truth, alias Will Bemis, the self-styled Divine Healer, attracted no little attention throughout the East, especially in Boston, a few years ago. The man was a handsome, plausible, smooth-spoken man, who claimed to have some mysterious mesmeric power by which he could cure any disease, simply by the laying on of hands. His advertisements bristled with testimonials and brilliant promises, and he did a good business among the credulous. Many, who doubtless had nothing whatever the matter with them, were hypnotized into the belief that they were cured.