The Secrets of the Great City Part 14

HOTEL SWINDLERS.

Quite a number of persons in this city make a regular business of staying at hotels, and absconding without paying their board. This cla.s.s consists of both males and females, and is much larger than most people suppose. We take the following descriptions of some of the best known from the daily journals of the City. They will show also their mode of operations:

A man by the name of D----, or R----, purporting to hail from St.

Louis, has enjoyed many years' experience as a hotel 'beat.' He is a tall, not ill-looking fellow, of tolerable address, and generally travels accompanied by his wife and three children, and by a large trunk; his wife sometimes contrives to smuggle in the third child secretly, and to hide it in the room allotted to them, so that only two children appear on the bill. At any rate the bill is never paid whenever settlement is demanded. Mr. D--, or R--, is always found in his apartment seated at the table, busy with an elaborate a.s.sortment of ma.n.u.scripts, and so busy that really at present he cannot be disturbed.

To-morrow he will attend to every thing. But to-morrow the birds have flown, or walked out, one by one, from the hotel, and when the trunk, is opened, there is a beggarly array of brickbats, old boxes, old rags, and carpets, the former having served to render the trunk weighty, the latter to prevent any noise or rolling that might excite suspicion.

Another adventurer, a bachelor, by the name of M----, affects the eccentric, and, as the day approaches for the handing in of his bill, his eccentricity verges upon madness, till at last, when the doc.u.ment is really tendered, he becomes absolutely crazy--shouts, sings, performs in an antic manner, and declares himself to be the king of the Jews, the President of the United States, or something of that sort. He has sufficient method in his madness, however, to gain the advantage of the hotel proprietors, having on one occasion beaten the Fifth Avenue Hotel out of one hundred and seventy-one dollars in board and lodging.

He sometimes is to be seen on Broadway in the guise of a military officer.

One of the most cunning and successful of adventurers is known by the name of W----, _alias_ Jones, _alias_ several other t.i.tles. This fellow is an undersized man, blind of one eye, but of very genteel and prepossessing address, and is generally accompanied by his wife. The two practice the bundle game, which is a very adroit performance. Their _modus operandi_ is as follows: They travel with a large Saratoga trunk, which is really well stocked with linen and clothing. Of this fact they contrive to render the detective and officials of the house aware, so as to quiet any suspicion. Having thus tolerably opened the ball they keep it rolling as long as possible, till within two days or so of the period of final settlement. Suddenly Mrs. W----, or Jones, appears to be seized with a mania for going up and down stairs, and in and out of the hotel, carrying little parcels in her hand to and fro to the milliners and dressmakers, etc. Her husband also discovers that his clothes need revision, and sends them to tailors. Messengers also come to their rooms for bundles, etc., and at last Mr. Jones, or W----, announces at the office that he is about to leave the next day, and would like his bill made out up 'till to-morrow night.' Meanwhile he goes on to state as his trunk requires some repairs he has removed his wardrobe into the bureau drawers, etc., and has sent for a trunkman to convey it to the nearest establishment, will they allow him a servant to a.s.sist the trunkman with it down stairs. The servant is sent to the room, sees that nothing is taken away but the empty trunk, and all is well. The adventurer and his female confederate eat with gusto, walk out arm in arm from the hotel, and are seen no more, neither their trunk, neither their wardrobe, which examination shows has not been removed into the bureau drawers; in short, the clothes of the worthy pair have been taken away bundle by bundle, parcel by parcel, and left at convenient places in the neighborhood, to be called for, while the trunk has been deposited at a friend's till further notice.

By this system of operations the St. Nicholas, Lafarge New York, and Howard Hotels were victimized. Their triumphant career was checked, however, at the Fifth Avenue Hotel, by efforts of the special detective of the house, who discovered one day a piece of paper containing W---- Jones' private memorandum of the places at which he and his wife had left their different bundles. By confronting Jones, accusing him of his dishonesty, presenting the paper and accompanying him _nolens volens_ to these various places, the detective contrived to recover the bill due to his hotel.

There are many adventurers hanging round a hotel, who are not enrolled, however, among its regular lodgers. There are numerous 'beats' who merely direct their energies to obtaining meals gratis, taking advantage of the rush to the tables during meal hours. As many as thirty-four of this cla.s.s were detected at the Fifth Avenue Hotel in a single month. These adventurers often practice the hat game, depositing, when they enter the dining-room, a worthless chapeau, and taking up, when they pa.s.s out, a valuable one--by inadvertence, of course. The Metropolitan Hotel has a colored man in its employ stationed at the door of the dining-rooms, who has proved thus far too much for the efforts of any of these gentry, consequently this hotel has been, in this respect, peculiarly fortunate.

A man named W----, lately gained the advantage of a hotel detective in a rather amusing manner. He was in the habit of stealing his meals, and was detected so doing, but as he was one day also seen to draw from his pocket a gold watch, attached to a heavy chain, it was determined to give him a little longer indulgence. At last his time was up, and the officer, advancing to him, told him that he had been waited for; that he had taken just so many meals, and must just pay so much money. "But I have no money." "Then I will seize your watch." When, lo! the watch had disappeared, and all the detective could find, in its place was but a bunch of keys--the watch itself having been originally borrowed for a purpose which it had fulfilled.

HOTEL THIEVES.

All the first-cla.s.s hotels employ private detectives and watchmen. The business of these men is to keep a watch over the upper part of the house, to prevent thieves from entering and robbing the rooms of the guests. Suspicious persons are at once apprehended, and required to give account of themselves.

A friend of the writer once called on an acquaintance at the St.

Nicholas, and, being on intimate terms with the gentleman, went immediately to his room, without making the customary inquiries at the office. Although he knew the house very well, he missed his way in the long corridor, and failed to find the stairway. While endeavoring to "get his bearing," he was accosted by a quiet-looking individual, who told him he must go with him to the office and give an account of himself. The man was the private detective of the house, and seeing that the gentleman had lost his way, supposed at once that he was a hotel thief who had become bewildered in trying to make off from the house. Fortunately, the gentleman was well known at the office, where the mistake was at once discovered and apologized for.

AN AGILE THIEF.

Some time ago, a man entered the St. Nicholas and robbed the occupant of one of the rooms, during his sleep, of a gold watch and chain, worth about one hundred and fifty dollars, a small amount of money, and a gold shirt-stud, with which he escaped to the hall-way. Succeeding so well, he concluded to try again, and proceeded to room 175, occupied by the cashier of the hotel, lifted that gentleman's clothing from a table, and stole some money from the pockets. As the thief was in the act of leaving the room, the cashier awoke, and, seeing a stranger, asked, "Who's there?" To which the robber replied, "I beg your pardon, sir; I have made a slight mistake." Upon which he hastily left, followed by the cashier, who cried, "Stop thief!" At that moment, detective Golden, employed in the hotel, appeared on the scene of action, and pursued the fugitive. The latter, in his haste, leaped down a whole flight of stairs, when detective Golden cried out to the men below to stop him; and accordingly he was seized and held till the detective ran down and took charge of the prisoner. On searching him, the gold watch and chain were found in his possession; also five different parcels of moneys, doubtless stolen from as many different rooms.

[Ill.u.s.tration: St. Nicholas Hotel.]

CHAPTER XIX.

RESTAURANTS.

Thousands of persons, sometimes entire families, live in rooms, and either take their meals at restaurants, or have them sent to them. This has become so common now that it ceases to attract attention in the city, but strangers are struck with it, and are quick to notice the bad effects of it.

Living at restaurants begets irregularity in the meal hours, and thus promotes bad health; and the absence of the restraints which the table of a family at home, or even the public board of a hotel, imposes, is the beginning of a looseness of manners, which is generally sure to be followed by a similar defect in morals. The cooking, at the majority of restaurants, is unhealthy, and intoxicating liquors are sold, to an extraordinary extent, as a part of the bill of fare.

The princ.i.p.al up-town restaurants are largely patronized by the disreputable cla.s.ses. Women of the town go there to pick up custom, and men to find such companions. Women of good social position do not hesitate to meet their lovers at such places, for there is a great deal of truth in the old adage which tells us "there's no place so private as a crowded hall." A quiet, but close observer will frequently see a nod, or a smile, or a meaning glance pa.s.s between most respectable- looking persons of opposite s.e.xes, and will sometimes see a note slyly sent by a waiter, or dropped adroitly into the hand of the woman as the man pa.s.ses out. Some of these nominally respectable places are so largely patronized by this cla.s.s, that a virtuous woman is in constant danger of being insulted should she chance to enter one of them.

THE BITER BITTEN.

Restaurants, like hotels, are the object of the constant attention of swindlers, though the operations are conducted on a smaller scale. Some of these persons are nominally respectable.

A bank clerk, with a fair salary and respectable connections, was in the habit of patronizing a fashionable restaurant, partaking of sumptuous lunches and dinners, and evading _full_ payment, under pretence that he had forgotten his pocket-book, or had omitted, in the hurry of business, to provide himself with small change, etc. Thus, if his check called for one dollar he would pay sixty cents, but invariably forgot upon the next, or any succeeding day, to 'settle' the balance due of forty cents. This 'little game,' so profitable to himself, was carried on for some time triumphantly, but retribution came at last, and unexpectedly and very cleverly. The clerk, seeing how matters stood, commenced to keep an account on a piece of paper of the sums due and sums _paid_ on each successive day at his establishment by this ingenious customer, and on one occasion, when the bank clerk had deposited his check for one dollar and a quarter and a ten dollar note in payment upon the counter (as he wished on this particular occasion to procure some small change for his own purposes), the clerk quietly took the note and then handed out two dollars and twenty cents in change. 'There must be some mistake,' said the bank clerk. 'Oh! none at all.' said the cashier. 'Did I not hand you a ten dollar note?' 'You did, sir.' 'And did not my check call for one dollar and a quarter?'

'It did, sir.' 'Then where is my change?' asked the bank clerk. 'It is _there_, sir' replied the cashier, pointing to a piece of paper which he handed to the astonished bank clerk. 'What is this paper?' 'It is your account.' '_My_ account!' 'Yes, sir, you will find it correct in every particular,' said the cashier; 'I will go over the items with you. On such and such a day your check called for such and such a sum; you paid only so and so, leaving such and such balance. The next day you ordered so and so, only paid so much, and left, of course, you see, this balance. Altogether, sir, you owe the establishment, as back balances due for food and liquors, up to date, just seven dollars and a half. I have taken out this amount, and you will find the change correct.'

"Words were useless--the bank clerk was outwitted, and left in disgust, and from that day to this has never set foot inside of that restaurant again."

CHAPTER XX.

BOARDING HOUSES.

As we have said elsewhere, it has been remarked that New York is a vast boarding-house. If any one doubts this, he has only to turn to the columns of the _Herald_, and see the long rows of advertis.e.m.e.nts on the subject. The better cla.s.s houses of the city are equal to any in the world, but there are scores here within the pale of respectability which are a trial to the fort.i.tude and philosophy of any man. A really desirable house is a rarity here, as elsewhere, and very hard to find.

He who is so lucky as to be domesticated in one of these is wise if he remains there.

FINDING A BOARDING HOUSE.

Some years ago there appeared a work on the subject of boarding houses, from which we extract the following description of the experience of a person looking for board in New York.

He either inserts in the _Herald_, _Tribune_, or _Times_, an advertis.e.m.e.nt specifying his particular requirements, or consults those addressed to humanity in general through the medium of their columns-- perhaps adopts both measures. In the former case, the next morning puts him in possession of a vast amount of correspondence, from the daintily-penned and delicately-enveloped _billets_ of up-towndom to the ill-spelled, pencil-scrawled, uncovered notes of Greenwich and Hudson streets. It matters not that he has indicated any definite locality; sanguine householders in remote Brooklyn districts clutch at him, Hoboken residents yearn toward him, and the writer of a stray Williamsburg epistle is 'confident that an arrangement can be made,' if he will favor _her_ with a visit. After laying aside as ineligible as many letters as there are _Smiths_ in a New York Directory, he devotes a morning to the purposes of inspection and selection.

He becomes acquainted with strange localities and bell-handles. He scrutinizes informatory sc.r.a.ps of paper wafered up beside doorways. He endures tedious waiting at thresholds--it being a curious fact in connection with boarding-houses that a single application for admission through the usual medium never procures it. And according as his quest be high or low, so will his experience vary.

If the former, he may expect to be ushered into s.p.a.cious and luxuriously-furnished parlors, where, seated in comfortably-padded rocking-chairs, and contemplating marble tables, on which gorgeously- bound volumes are artistically arranged; thousand-dollar piano-fortes, and mirrors capable of abashing a modest man to utter speechlessness, he will tarry the advent of stately dames, whose dresses rustle as with conscious opulence. He will precede them--they being scrupulous as to exposure of ankles--up broad staircases to handsome apartments, and listen with bland satisfaction to the enumeration of 'all the modern improvements' which their mansions comprise; nor, perhaps, be startled at the 'figure' for which they may be enjoyed. If 'money be no object,'

he will not have to seek far, or fare badly.

"But the researches of him whose aspirations are circ.u.mscribed by a shallow purse will produce different results. By Irish girls, with unkempt hair and uncleanly physiognomy, he will be inducted into sitting-rooms where the Venetian blinds are kept scrupulously closed, for the double purpose of excluding flies and preventing a too close scrutiny of the upholstery. He will have interviews with landladies of various appearances, ages and characteristics--landladies dubious and dingy, landladies severe and suspicious, (inflexible as to 'references or payments in advance,') landladies calm and confiding, landladies chatty and conciliatory,--the majority being widows. He will survey innumerable rooms--generally under that peculiarly cheerful aspect attendant on unmade beds and unemptied washing-basins--and, if of sanatory principles, examine the construction of windows in order to ascertain whether they be asphyxiative or moveable. He will find occasion to admire how apartments may be indifferently ventilated by half-windows, and attics constructed so that standing erect within them is only practicable in one spot. How a three-feet-by-sixteen inches strip of threadbare carpet, a twelve-and-a-half-cents-Chatham-square mirror, and a disjointed chair may, in the lively imagination of boardinghouse proprietresses, be considered _furniture_. How double, triple, and even quintuple beds in single rooms, and closets into which he only succeeds in effecting entrance by dint of violent compression between the 'cot' and wall, are esteemed highly eligible accommodations for single gentlemen. How part.i.tions (of a purely nominal character) may in no wise prevent the occupants of adjoining rooms from holding conversation one with the other, becoming cognizant of neighboring snores, or turnings in bed. He will observe that lavatory arrangements are mostly of an imperfect description, generally comprising a frail and rickety washing-stand--which has apparently existed for ages in a Niagara of soapsuds, a ewer and basin of limited capacity, and a cottony, weblike towel, about as well calculated for its purpose as a similar sized sheet of blotting paper would be. In rooms which have not recently submitted to the purifying brush of the white-washer, he will notice the mortal remains of mosquitoes (not to mention more odoriferous and objectionable insects) ornamenting ceilings and walls, where they have encountered Destiny in the shape of slippers or boot- soles of former occupants."

EXPERIENCE.

All boarding houses begin to fill up for the winter about the first of October. Few of the proprietors have any trouble in filling their establishments, as there is generally a rush of strangers to the City during the winter season. A few of the best houses retain their guests for years, but the occupants of the majority change their quarters every fall. At the first, the table is bountifully supplied with the best the markets afford, the attendance is excellent, and the proprietor is as obliging and pleasant as one could wish. This continues for a month or two until good board becomes scarcer in the City. Then the attendance becomes inferior. The proprietor cannot afford to keep so many servants, and the very best in the house are discharged. The fare becomes poor and scanty, and the proprietor, sure that few will care to change quarters so late in the season, answers all complaints with a gruff intimation that you can leave the house if you are dissatisfied. You feel like taking his advice, and would do so but for the knowledge that you will fare as bad or worse if you do so.

You make up your mind to submit, and endure all the discomforts of the house until May with her smiling face calls you into the country, or offers you an opportunity to better your condition.

All houses are more liberal to their boarders in the summer than in the winter--the City is then comparatively deserted, and most of the "highly respectable establishments" are very much in want of guests.

They then offer unusual inducements, and are forced by their necessities to atone in some measure for their winter barbarity.

BOARDING-HOUSE CHARACTERS.

Persons seeking board in New York frequently complain of being annoyed by a demand on the part of the landlady (for the proprietor, is, in most cases, a woman) for reference. This may not be pleasant to the over-sensitive, but it is absolutely necessary. Nearly every boarder is at first a stranger to his landlady. She does not know whether a man is a gentleman or a thief, or whether a female is a saint or a fallen woman. She naturally desires to keep her house free from improper characters, and to secure as guests those who will pay her promptly and regularly.

In spite of these efforts, however, it may be safely affirmed that there are not ten boarding houses in the city, which do not contain improper characters. Observers have been struck with the number of handsome young widows who frequent these places. Sometimes these women claim to be the wives of men absent in the distant Territories, or in Europe, and pretend to receive letters and remittances from them. In nine cases out of ten such women make their living in a manner they do not care to have known. They conduct themselves with the utmost propriety towards all persons living in the house with them, and are considered ladies by even acute judges. These same judges are sometimes a little startled to meet these virtuous dames in places where _ladies_ are never seen. Of course the secret is kept, and the woman continues to deceive her other companions.