The Thubway Tham MEGAPACK ®. Johnston McCulley

street and walked around for a time, and finally entered the subway again. The platform happened to be thronged, and Tham was gratified to see a number of prosperous-looking gentlemen waiting for the train.

      Tham followed them aboard. One man in particular appealed to him. He was large, prosperous looking to a high degree, and the tails of his coat swung free of his hips. As he brushed against another man, Thubway Tham noticed the top of a wallet in a hip pocket.

      That one glance told Tham that it was a large wallet, a well-worn wallet, just the sort that should contain a goodly amount of currency. He edged closer to the man he picked, but in such a manner that none noticed it. All he needed now was an opportunity, the moment when the train thundered into a station and the doors were opened, when the throng fought to get out of the cars and into them.

      The moment came. Thubway Tham brushed forward, and his clever fingers did their work. Tham attempted to go past the others and hurry to the street, but his victim kept in front of him. He, too, seemed to be in a hurry, and, reaching the street two steps in front of Thubway Tham, greeted two men who seemed to be waiting for him and stepped forward.

      At that moment Tham had a feeling of disaster. The victim reached toward his hip pocket.

      “My wallet!” he exclaimed, making a quick stop. “My wallet’s gone!”

      Thubway Tham was within a few feet of him, just at the level of the walk. He saw a policeman a few feet away whom he did not know personally, but it did not follow that the officer did not know him. Thubway Tham felt cornered. There was but one thing to do—get rid of the “leather” quickly.

      His hand darted into his pocket as the man ahead stopped. Taking the wallet out, he tossed it aside as he walked on straight toward his victim, with the intention of passing him and hurrying up the street. Tham gave a sigh of relief. He had lost the wallet, but they could fasten no crime upon him now. If it was found then and there, the big man would think that he had dropped it as he came up the steps.

      Just then Thubway Tham, glancing back innocently, gave a gasp of terror. That confounded yellow pup was tearing along the walk after him. Tham had forgotten that he had told the dog to stay there until his return. He had done his “trick” and left the subway at Fourteenth Street, where he had left the pup waiting some time earlier. But the worst of it was that the pup had in his mouth the wallet which Tham had tossed away and the pup had retrieved.

      The bird-dog part of him was being uppermost for the moment—he was playing a game with his master again.

      “My wallet! The dog’s got it!”

      Thubway Tham stood as though turned to stone. His feet seemed unable to move, though his mind told him to run. The pup stopped before him and wagged his tail, holding up the wallet as high as he could and prancing around on his hind legs.

      “That your dog?”

      Tham gulped, but could not answer. But the big man gave him no chance.

      “That’s my wallet,” he explained. “I must have dropped it as I left the subway. These men will vouch for me.”

      “Aw—all right,” Tham said, gasping.

      “My name’s Chester Jonebin. You’ll find the name in the wallet, cards, et cetera. Kindly look.”

      Tham took the wallet from the dog and verified the name.

      “No money in it,” said the big man. “But those papers—if they had been lost it would have caused no end of inconvenience. I feel that I must reward you, my man, for having such a sensible dog. Allow me!”

      The big man reached into a pocket of his waistcoat, extracted some currency, and handed Thubway Tham a fifty-dollar bill.

      “It’s worth it!” he said. “Serves me right for being careless. Legal papers, you understand. Depositions and such. No thanks—it’s coming to you!”

      Before Thubway Tham could speak, the big man and his friends were hurrying along the street. Tham looked at the bill; then down at the yellow pup.

      “Dog,” said Thubway Tham, “you come along with me. I know where they thell meat! And if Nothey Moore won’t let you thleep in hith kitchen, then we’ll get uth another roomin’ houthe. Come with me, dog!”

      The dog wagged his stump of tail and followed. It was a lucky day, after all, especially for the dog.

      THUBWAY THAM TUNES IN

      Some men are born radio fans, some achieve radio fandom, and others have radio fanaticism thrust upon them. Thubway Tham, our young friend who gains sustenance and adventure by “lifting leathers” in the subway, belonged to the last class.

      Owning a radio receiving set was about as far from Thubway Tham’s thoughts as owning and operating a cattle ranch, until one evening when he was approached by Mr. “Nosey” Moore, the retired burglar who conducted the lodging house that Thubway Tham called home.

      Upon this particular evening, Mr. Nosey Moore accosted Tham in his room, lighted a cigarette, hummed and hawed for a few minutes, and then came to the point of his visit. It seems that a certain burglar of reputation, Peter Panns, had allowed himself to be captured by the police under circumstances that made a trip “up the river” and a “long stretch in stir” a possibility of the near future.

      But Peter Panns was of the sort that dies hard. So he had managed release on bail and was about to engage a noted criminal lawyer in an effort to escape incarceration. In New York City, as elsewhere, it may be mentioned, noted criminal lawyers do not labor for the love of it. Hence, Peter Panns was compelled to raise money, and lots of it.

      During the days of affluence, Peter Panns had leased and furnished, in an elaborate manner, a bachelor apartment. And now, in his hour of need, he realized all that he could upon the furnishings. All good crooks should rush to the aid of Peter Panns, said Nosey Moore. For instance, he had an excellent radio receiving set, and Tham should buy it.

      So Thubway Tham, out of the goodness of his heart, and being in funds at the moment, purchased the radio set and installed it in his room. The first evening he played with it a bit. The second, in an unguarded moment, the radio bug bit him and allowed him to get Pittsburgh, Philadelphia and Cleveland. Whereupon, Thubway Tham promptly became a rabid radio fan and counted that evening lost when he did not tune in on a couple of new stations.

      Tham had owned the set for a week, and the disease was in its height, when he happened to meet his ancient friend-enemy, Detective Craddock of headquarters, in Madison Square. Tham’s conversation for the first ten minutes caused Craddock to smile.

      “So you’ve got it, have you, old-timer?” the detective questioned. “You’ve got the radio bug. I won’t have to worry much about your operations for a few days, Tham. You’ll be turning the little dials and all that.”

      “Yeth?” Tham said in reply. “Don’t you own a radio thet?”

      “Certainly,” Craddock responded. “I got one over a year ago. I tune in now and then, but I’ll bet the dust is half an inch thick on the dials now. I was rabid myself, Tham, for a couple of months. It’s a tough disease.”

      “Tho it ith a ditheathe, ith it?” Tham said. “Radio ith a great thing, Craddock.”

      “I’m not disputing that fact.”

      “It ith a meanth of entertainment for the thhut-in. It bringth to your own room the betht entertainment in the world. Without takin’ off your thlipperth and puttin’ on your thhoeth and goin’ out, a man can thit right in hith own home and enjoy himthelf.”

      “What are you doing? Selling ’em?” Craddock asked.

      “No, thir! But you don’t want to make fun of a thing like that, Craddock. It may be the meanth of helpin’ you thometime when you leatht expect it. Look at how it helpth you thilly polithe! I tune in every night and hear the polithe alarmth.”

      “It’s a great thing!” Craddock admitted. “Only I’m