Adventures of Thubway Tham. Johnston McCulley

on>

      INTRODUCTION

      Pulp writer Johnston McCulley (1993-1938) was the author of hundreds (if not thousands) of short stories and novels, published in pulp magazines under his own name and a plethora of pseudonyms. His most famous creation is, without doubt, the masked swordsman Zorro, made famous by radio, movies, and television. But before Zorro hit it big, McCulley tried out dozens of different heroes and antiheroes: Black Star, the Avenging Twins, the Man in Purple, the Green Ghost, the Mongoose, Richard Hughes—Railroad Detective, the Spider, the Thunderbolt, the Crimson Clown…and a pickpocket with a lisp named “Thubway Tham” who is is pursued by Detective Craddock of the New York Police Department.

      Tham got his start in 1918, but continued with more than 100 original stories (in various magazines) through 1960. That’s quite a run.

      Wildside Press published Tales of Thubway Tham (a collection of 10 stories) in 2005. Since then, we’ve had nothing but positive feedback about the clever little “dip.” Now we’re pleased to issue a second collection of 10 more stories (plus a humorous anecdote).

      Enjoy this brief digression to the classic pulp stories, and one of the great undiscovered characters. And if you become as big a fan of Tham as I am, you’ll soon be hunting for more!

      THUBWAY THAM, FASHION PLATE

      Having partaken of an excellent breakfast, Thubway Tham strolled from the little restaurant, lighted a cigarette, and wandered toward Union Square like a man who is pleased with life and what it offers.

      It had been three days since Tham had invaded the subway for the purpose of “lifting a leather.” Tham was in funds due to a windfall of a week before, when a wallet he had obtained by nefarious means proved to hold a considerable amount.

      “Thith ith great weather,” Tham told himself.

      Autumn was in the air, men and women walked with a swinging stride, eyes sparkled; hot summer was behind, and cold winter still some distance ahead. Thubway Tham enjoyed it. His breakfast had been good, and his cigarette tasted better than usual.

      “Muth have made a mithtake and put thome tobacco in thith one,” Tham decided.

      He went around Union Square and continued toward the north, having no particular place to go. For two days he had not seen Craddock, the one detective who trailed him with a determination that was creditable, and who had sworn to catch him “with the goods” some fine day, much to Thubway Tham’s amusement. Tham enjoyed his conflict with Craddock; it kept him alert, which is good for any man known to officers of the law as a professional pickpocket of more than usual ability.

      In time, Tham stopped before the window of an art store to look at the pictures displayed there. Somebody touched him on the shoulder. Tham did not flinch, as crooks are supposed to do when anybody touches them on the shoulder. He merely turned slowly, inquiry in his countenance. “Nifty” Noel stood before him.

      It may be remarked that Nifty Noel was a sort of jack-of-all-trades in the underworld, and seemed to be prosperous. The mode of the moment, as far as clothes were concerned, was not quite modern enough for Noel. He was a delight to the eye. His shirts were things of beauty, his coat and trousers possessed an ultra-fashionable cut; he wore spats and carried a stick, and always had the latest in hats on his head tilted in a becoming fashion. Noel was a walking fashion plate; Thubway Tham was not.

      “I haven’t seen you for some time, Tham,” said Nifty Noel. “Where have you been keeping yourself?”

      “Jutht around,” Tham replied.

      “I thought maybe you’d been sick; you certainly do look seedy.”

      “Tho?”

      “Yes. You aren’t beginning to feel your age, are you?”

      “Thay!”

      “Well, you look it. Slowing up, Tham? On the square, haven’t you been sick?”

      “Thertainly not,” Tham declared.

      “Look frayed and frazzled, you do. Been working too hard or something, I guess. The bulls haven’t been worrying you, have they?”

      “Nothin’ of the thort!”

      “Come on, now, tell an old pal what the trouble is. I’m dead willing to help. I always liked you, Tham.”

      “Thay, there ain’t anything the matter with me!”

      “Just between ourselves, Tham. Maybe I can help you a lot. You must either be sick, or else you’re worrying too much. Worry is bad business, Tham, and you should know it. Walk on down the street with me and spill it. I’m right here with the helping hand, old-timer.”

      “My goodneth! There ain’t anything the matter with me, I thaid. Where do you get that thtuff? What ith the matter with you yourthelf? You make me thick!”

      “Surely you can trust me, Tham,” said Nifty Noel. “I’m a square guy, I am.”

      “Nobody thaid you wath not thquare.”

      “Then come through with your tale of woe. Is it coin?”

      “I have all the coin I need.”

      “Better let me help you, Tham. There’s a hollow look around your eyes and the corners of your mouth are drawn. You’re pale, too. Been getting plenty of sleep?”

      Thubway Tham snarled at him and turned his back.

      “Anxious to help you, Tham,” Noel went on. “You look like you were down on your luck. You certainly do look seedy. Don’t you ever get your pants pressed? And look at the wrinkles in that coat! And no shine! Good Lord, Tham, I hate to see an old-timer like you go to pieces—”

      “Thay,” Tham cried, whirling upon him, “I feel all right and I am all right. Thee? And you are a thilly ath!”

      Thubway Tham walked briskly up the street and left Nifty Noel standing at the curb swinging his stick and looking after him, a thoughtful expression upon his face. Tham turned the corner and made his way toward Broadway. Why, he had remarked to himself a few minutes before meeting Noel that the weather was great, and that he felt great, that breakfast had been good, and the cigarette made from real tobacco! And now this Nifty Noel spoke as if—

      Tham began wondering whether he really was all right. Possibly those hot cakes he had eaten would give him a slight attack of indigestion. Come to think of it, he was experiencing a sort of tired feeling. And his head felt light, just as it does when—

      “It ith juth the talk of that thimp,” Tham declared to himself. “He ith enough to make any man thick. I am all right. I thaid I wath all right, and I am all right. I thay it again—I am all right.”

      He turned another corner, and bumped into Detective Craddock. The officer grinned, and Thubway Tham removed his cap and scratched at his head.

      “It wath a fine day until juth a thecond ago,” he announced. “Tho I thee your ugly fathe again, do I?”

      “You certainly do, Tham, old boy. I haven’t had the pleasure of looking into your glowing countenance for a few days. Been behaving yourself?”

      “I alwayth behave mythelf.”

      “Tell that to some infant, Tham. You couldn’t behave yourself in the subway, and you know it. How are the wallets running now, fat and juicy?”

      “Thay! Juth becauthe I wath railroaded up the river on the—”

      “Don’t make me laugh now, Tham! Cut out that innocent stuff with me,” said Craddock. “I’ve been neglecting you for a few days and keeping an eye on a certain other gent who likes to pick up a jewel here and there. But he’s behind bars now, Tham, where I’ll have you some day.”

      “It theemth to me that I have heard thomething like that before,” Tham told him.

      “All jokes aside, Tham, old boy, what’s the matter with you?”

      “With me? I am all right. I juth wath thayin’