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“Little Jinks”

by a London Detective

I never could be harsh with any one having a real love for his mother; more, the moment that I saw that his case was a deserving one, I was ready to exert myself to the utmost to help him out of the mire. My own mother had a hard struggle to keep her harum-scarum boy in order; but sooner than cause a tear to gather in her eye, I would have chopped off my right hand. She was my idol when I used to worship in secret; and many a time when she thought me fast asleep, I have been peeping out from under the blankets, watching her sewing, and wishing that I were strong enough and big enough to work for her myself. But let me explain. I received the following note one morning as I entered the office: 

“I missed my purse when I reached home, so my pocket must have been picked somewhere between the Mansion House and Finsbury Square.” 

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