TOLD THE MAGISTRATE.

Hokitika Guardian, 25 August 1928, Page 4

TOLD THE MAGISTRATE.

LONDON, June 5. Professional beggars are often philosophers. They toil not, neither do they sin, but they are good judges of character, and a beggar who knows his business can make a fairly good income during the London season, when the wealth of the world leaks out from the stream of pleasure. Beginning with the Derby and ending with Ascot professional beggars make a good living in London. In 'July and August they go to the seaside resorts, following the logical plan of getting money from where money is.

Yesterday at Marlborough street Police Court wo had three professional beggars, each of whom revealed a sense of humour as well as a knowledge of human nature. John of the curly hair, the bronzed complexion, and the West of England accent candidly admitted that he was standing in Piccadilly with his hack against a lamp-post, and bis hands in his pockets praying fervently that he could find a shilling. A young constable who had followed him from street to street, seeking for evidence, heard him ask a young woman for a few coppers. “(And that was a risk,” remarked John. “You have to be very careful with women. As soon as you approach them they start shouting or show signs of fainting. Very difficult they are. You have to bo very charming to the female sex.” John of the curly hair was put back to see the police court missionary, who knows everything there is to know about the records of old criminals. * * » » » George, wearing spectacles and having a pocketful of scissors, is the cignrctte-end king. When he is not soiling scissors at a. shilling each he is picking up cigarette-ends. When he was arrested for hogging his pockets were bulging with the discarded stubs of every brand of cigarette.

Ho offered a quarter of an inch of a choice, Turkish brand to the officer who arrested him. His offer being refused, ho cheerfully exclaimed as he lit the remnant of a. popular cigarotto: “I prefer Virginian.”

At the urgent request of George, MiMead, the magistrate, inspected his stock of scissors. “They seem very good when you know how to open them,” admitted the magistrate, who was interested in a practical demonstration by the usher. “They are good,” insisted George. “I sold a pair for a shilling and had a drink at the Goat Tavern, and when I came out I was pinched.” George was sent to join John in a talk with the. court missionary.

Richard, who was handicapped with three convictions and a melancholy moustache,- pleaded guilty. “All I want,” he walled, “is a pedlar’s license; if I can soil something I won’t beg anything, but I expect I’ll go back to Wandsworth Gaol.”

“Have you seen tho court missionary ’’ asked the magistrate. “Only once, at Bow street, and be got mo off with 14 days,” replied Richard.

“Ah,” said Mr Mead benevolently. “You see our missionary.” And Richard did, because beggars can he choosers in the metropolitan police courts.

Two young costermongers were fined for obstruction. Both were very smartly dressed. No. 1 wore a blue lounge suit with blue shirt, collar and tie, and displayed a blue handkerchief. No. 2, who had brown hair, looked well in a blown suit, brown tie. brown socks, and brown shoes. Obviously they were the Beau Bnuiimells of the costermongers. LONDON, June 20. The shell-shocked proprietor of a coffee stall in Wick road, Hackney Wick, E., was sadly reflecting on repletion, when Robert, a poultry salesman, and Edward, a market porter, approached him and began talking about romances. They said they had 10,000 cigarettes that they wished to sell to him ai 25s per 1,000. Albert of the coffee stall lontinued to reflect, and he concluded that while there was no repletion of extra cheap cigarettes there was romance in the generous offer of Robert and Edward, so he asked them to cal! again later in the day. Albert, still reflecting, decided that he had met romance, and ho wont out to tell a policeman all about it, with the result that when Robert and Edawrd arrived with no cigarettes, and not even a cigarette card, they were arrested.

Albert, nt North London Police Court yesterday, admitted that he was not deceived by the cigarette sellers’ romance, and they were discharged by Mr Basil Watson, the magistrate, who observed: “You had better not try this sort of joke again ; otherwise you may find it no joke.” * * * * *

His hair and whiskers were white as hoarfrost, and his hands shook as they gripped two sticks to support his weak legs, but his eyes gleamed brightly from behind steel-rimmed spectacles. He was 90 years old and he wanted to go back to the joiner’s bench, but bis tools, his treasured tools worth £IOO, lie said, were being detained by bis daughter-in-law. ■i I C an’t deal with tools so expensive ; you must go to the county court,” said the magistrate, stifling a smile.

When Norah’s name was called, Mr J. B. Watson, the magistrate, was discussing a point of law with the clerk and Norali, halted by the gaoler, tartly remarked: “Nice thing to keep a lady waiting like this.” When sbe was ultimately released Norali sprang into the dock like a stag clearing a ditch. There was just a flash df her elastic-sided boots, a swirl of long skirts—and there she was bowing to the Bench and laughing scornfully at the constable waiting to give evidence.

“Yesterday afternoon,” said the officer. “ sbe was very drunk, standing at the gate of the work-house, and demanding to bo let in.” “So I did,” agreed Norali. “It was my afternoon off and I met a gentleman friend, and ha behaved like a gentleman and stood me several drinks. But he did not know that I don’t believe in breakfasts. No, sir I would sooner have the money. Breakfasts do not agree with me. It is much too early to eat, and you sir, know how it is—drinks without food are the devil.” “I a<n-ee,” remarked Mr Watson serious!w “You really should have more breakfast and less drink, but L will look over it this time and you may go.” . “ And may your bed be made m Heaven,” prayed Norali, as she took a flying leap out of the dock and winked viekcdly at the gaoler. «•***"

Age will be served. Why is it that the older we get the harder we work? Many of the liardest-wsrking men and women in the country are well over 60, while our casual wards and labour exchanges are crowded with young men and girls enjoying State charity. Take Henry Frederick Johnson, a porter in his early twenties, who has decided that work does not agree with

him. Put on probation for an offence committed last April, he has not onlylived in idleness but he has persuaded two youths, brought up to believe in work, to commit petty larcenies. Having had Ins chance he was sentenced to three months’ bard labour, a punishment bo received with a cynical smile, and his dupes were put on probation.

Maybe some day somebody in authority will realise tho evil effects of the dole on the youth of the country. The police, the magistrates, and police court missionaries know it too well. Easy money means easy virtue, and idleness is the mother of deception.

A stern, thin, and strong-willed middle-aged spinster complained that although she had been in her new apartments for less than six weeks her neighbours bad begun to annoy her. “They don’t say anything, but their annoyance is most offensive. Iheie is in particular a person in the next room who will persist in playing a trumpet. I can conceive of nothing more objectionable than the blnie of a trumpet badly-played.” “ But, madam,” observed the magistrate, “ that trumpet might have annoyed everybody. I cannot grant jou a summons on such a slight complaint.” “That trumpet annoys me,” insisted the severe spinster. “I never liked trumpets, and this trumpet is peculiarly distasteful.”

An old-age pensioner from Essex came up to London for Ascot week with 30s in a leather purse on Monday morning. At three o’clock ill the afternoon he had added to his experience, but had lost both the leather purse and the 30s. He began sowing the last ol his wild oats in a public-house in Shaltesbury Avenue, where he said ho met Blanche the waitress, and May the charwoman, whom he accused of first flattering and then robbing him. Blanche and May docared indignantly that they had never seen the old man, and May accounted for a ten shilling note hidden in her stocking and £2 10s wrapped in a blue silk handkerchief by calling her employer, who said she had given the money to .'day to do some shopping. Mr Hay Halkett, the magistrate, discharged the two young women, and the old-age pensioner remarked that he had always heard that London was a wicked place and now he was sure of it.

Books have been tho downfall of James Collins, a scholarly man of 72, who for many years has made a living out of literature. He does not write book's, he steals them, and he has been convicted 17 times for taking out hooks and neglecting to put them hack. A detective announced that the old man made a low living out of high literature. “He is a persistent book thief and a pest to booksellers.” Old Collins, the book collector, walked into a bookseller’s shop in Oxford Street and was walking out again with a catalogue of the works of William Strang, priced at £3 3s. “This is not tne sort of hook that would appeal to everybody,” remarked Mr Hay llalkett as he turned over tho pages. I agree. The only William Strang I have heard of was a writer, a specialist in imagination and fancy, and the I'ac-t that a catalogue of his works is worth £3 3s shows that 1 have not the literary knowledge of James Collins, convict and bookworm.

Annie is one of the fastest and most fluent talkers I have had the misfortune to meet. In a few well-chosen words P.C. 404 C described how ho had arrested her for being drunk and fighting with two other women outside a public-house in Oxford Street, and for about half an hour Annie told the magistrate the story of her life. She went into tho witness-box, made herself thoroughly comfortable, and, taking a deep breath, began at the beginning of her family history. “ It is not evidence, hut go on.” said Mr Hay Halkett wearily. And Annie went on until she remarked: “She struck mo in the mouth.” “ An. that is evidence,” said the magistrate, brightening. “Then I made a swipe at her,” observed Annie. “That too is evidence,” murmured the clerk. Annie was put back, still talking to await tho evidence of the station inspector who took the charge.