Darke Darrell, the Boy Detective — page 23: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

14 ~ DARKE DARRELL. emnly averred Darke. ‘‘ You'll find that out, sooner or later.” «“When I’m playing checkers with my nose, eh?” grinned Jeff. <*J’ll take good care to keep out of limbo. Hush! That’s Rube Fenton, the detective.” A man passed them on the other side of the street, walk- ing briskly, yet seeing everything about him. He was neatly dressed, and glanced at his watch as he hurried by. The watch was gold, as the boys could see, for it sparkled in the sunlight. **Ts it good business to be a detective?” Darke asked. ‘Tf you’re called to it,” replied Jeff. ‘It’s a gift, and a low, mean business at best. Fenton’s got rich, not by exposing thieves, but by shielding them. It takes a thief to catch a thief, the saying is. If a detective who’s called doesn’t get rich, it’s his own fault; not that he lacks genius or opportunity, but because he’s over honest.” ‘Do they not get a salary?” asked Darke. “Pooh! ‘They’d starve on that,” declared Jeff, ‘and on their commissions, too. It’s the private snaps that bring them in the tin. Whichever pays the most, whether the thief or the man who was robbed. A detective is no better than a thief. He is worse; he spies out, lays traps, breaks his word, betrays, buysand sells, blood-hounds or lets up. Never be a detective, Darke. If you are honest, you'll find no money in it, and stand a chance of having your head blown off besides.” Presently the boys separated. Darke did not accept all that Jeff had said; his judgment was good, and he wasn’t to be influenced by anything that lacked consistency. He believed that there were honest detectives, who made a fair living. He saw how they could gain a competency, even, without wronging their fellow-men. “T’ll be a detective,” he said aloud, to himself, uncon- sciously striking his hands together, Gomice 200 Sa(ECo)