The cover image was created by the transcriber and is placed in the public domain.
PRICE, 50 CENTS.
“Know ye not who would be free
themselves must strike the blow.”—BYRON.
TWENTY
YEARS
A
FAKIR
Gate City Book and Novelty Company,
OMAHA, NEB.
PRICE, 50 CENTS.
TWENTY YEARS
A
FAKIR
BY
S. J. W.
Gate City Book and Novelty Company,
Omaha, Neb.
Copyrighted 1899,
by
THE GATE CITY BOOK AND NOVELTY CO.,
Omaha, Neb.
CONTENTS.
Starting Out—Becoming Ambitious—Leaving Home—Hotel Porter—Card Business—Lightning Rod Agent—Traveling Men—The Accident.
Busted—Soap Signs—Walking—The Two Actors—Free Theatres—Jumping Bills—The Other Fakir—Pen Schemes—Street Talk—The Friendly Haystack.
Meeting Prof. Carter—The Music Scheme—Flowers and Novelties—The Ladies—The Soap Racket—Street Gags and Jokes—The Sinking Vessel.
The Contemptible Piano Tuner—The Biographical Write-up Fake—The Flattered Black-smith.
Fakir Maxims—A Happy Meeting—Auction Business—Talk and Auction Gags—The Boy Auctioneer—Parting with Prof. Carter.
Getting onto Scheme Goods—Frightening the Ladies—Trick at Church Fair—Street Work—The Catchy Little Look-backs, and Giving Them Away—The Horse and the Loaf of Bread Trick—Handling Microscopes.
The Museum Scheme and the Six Widows—Traveling Without Paying Railroad Fare—Living on Free Lunches—At a Low Ebb—The Animated Chocolate Drop—Old Auntie from Smoky Row—The Corn Doctor—The Excited Mob—Not Only Broke, but Dead-broke—The Letter from Home—Getting Out of Town.
The New Doctor and Professional Grafter—Medicine Fake—The Electric Battery and Money—Fun with Crowd in the Street—Selling Pipes and Giving Watches Away—Fooling the Farmers—The Circus, Turnips and the Elephant—Working the Hotel Landlords.
Side Lines and Schemes of Various Kinds—The Glass Pen—Pie Scheme Choked Off—Selling Notions from Wagon—Fighting the Railroad Bonds—Forced to Leave Town—Legislated Out of Business—A Warning and the Escape—The Accident—The Penny Raffling Scheme.
Catching Suckers—Biting Myself—The Hospital Nurse and Mail Order Schemes—Working Saloon Men on Bible Racket.
The Portrait Business—Tricks of the Trade—The Band and Hall Plan—Excitement and Joke at Voting Contest—The Frame Scheme.
Tricks in Delivering and Collecting—The Stingy Landlord and the Prunes—Day Board $3.00 per Week—Drummers $2.00 per Day—The Elopement.
Working the Saloon Keeper for an Extra Five—Alone Again—Arrested—Fighting the License—Sick—The Insurance Scheme—The Wheel and Cigar Dodge—The Stage Hold-up—The Horse Doctor and Cholera—Cigars, Two for a Nickel—Making a Preacher Swear.
Temperance Town and Cold Tea Racket—Busted Again—Money Making Schemes—The Shoemaker Couldn’t Sleep—Going Back to Street Work—The Fifty Thousand Dollar Money Deception—Jewelry Packages to Be Used Any Old Way—Some More Street Jokes—A Watch and Chain for Twenty-five Cents.
Selling Musical Instruments—Trickery and Deception—Looking for Something New—Selling the Roaster—The Canvass.
Selling Bibles—Selling Books—What Was Said—Working the Customers—Curiosity—Public Meetings and Library Clubs.
Adding to Bank Account—Looked Better, Felt Better and Was Better—Selling Encyclopedias—Complete Canvass—Tricky and Persistent—Advertising Schemes—Tricks of the Present Day—Disguises—How Different Business Men Were Worked—Strategy.
Rebuffs and Insults—The Lawyer, the Doctor and the Coon—Avoiding a License—Working the City Marshal—Jokes with the Milliner—Banking Twelve Thousand Dollars.
The Real Estate Fake—Booming a Town—Making a Fortune—Tricks of Other People—All This World Is a Fake and Every Person in It a Fakir—The Politician and the Widow—A Diamond Ring for Two Cents.
Married and Settled Down—Retired and Happy—A Dip in the Lake—The World Is Round and Wide—Farewell.
TWENTY YEARS A FAKIR.
INTRODUCTION.
The old adage, “An open confession is good for the soul,” has no bearing on my case. I did not write this book to ease my conscience; but of my own free will, for my own amusement—and for yours, too, I trust. I am going to tell you how I made my money.
I will acknowledge in the outset that I was a fakir of the fakirs, a Simon-pure article. Today I occasionally run across an old acquaintance, who greets me with an admonishing grin, and the apostrophe, “Look at the airs he puts on now; and I can remember when he hadn’t two dimes to rub together.”
Yes, my friend, your memory serves you right, but now I have my compensations. I can take my ease among the luxuries of a comfortable home; I can lean back on the cushions of a brougham, as neat a turnout as you will see on the Central Park drive; I can occupy a box at the opera, or finger my bank-book, in which the figures are comfortable, and the balance on the right side.
It was ambition for wealth which drove me out in the world, to look about and hustle; and I acknowledge freely that hustle I did, in the fullest sense of the term.
What have I done?
Rather, what have I not done along the lines of a fakir’s avocation? I believe at various times I have handled everything sold on the road. In giving you the arguments and methods employed in my different canvasses I have drawn solely from actual experience and observation, and endeavored as explicitly as possible to show how I overcame every obstacle and objection, and attained a flattering degree of success.
For obvious reasons, an accredited fakir would stand no show in running for public office; but he runs for everything else in sight, and allows the public offices to take care of themselves. In general, he is a happy-go-lucky chap, who sleeps with one eye open, and dreams of 200 per cent. profits. He is a solid, windy bluff; an unscrupulous, honest trader; a rollicking, sober fellow; a truthful prevaricator; a generous absorber of money; a free dispenser of advice; a necessary adjunct to a circus, and not always thrown away at a church fair. He is the profitable terror of the hotel proprietor, the mash of the same proprietor’s daughters, and the life of a friendly game of draw; always ready to shovel snow in July, or mow a blue grass lawn in January, if he can, as he certainly will, make his account out of such occupation. To summarize, he is a bundle of contradictions—easy, yet hard to understand; overflowing with the milk of human kindness, but professionally hard as rocks. In the way of business, no game is too high or too low for him to fly at or swoop down upon.
The life of a fakir is not easy sailing. He strikes many a stumbling block along the road, and is hampered by many a disadvantage. He can have no continuous abiding place. He must move with the tide, and shift his operations from day to day. The business of this week will be the reminiscence of next. New fields, new customers, new fakes; for these he must be constantly on the alert, and work them to the most extreme limit. While on the road he is practically a citizen without a country and a man without a home.
This book is not launched upon the sea of public approval as a literary gem. It is merely an expose of the tricks and triumphs of twenty years of successful faking, and as such, without more words of explanation, allow me to present it.
The Author.
CHAPTER I.
STARTING OUT.
Becoming Ambitious—Leaving Home—Hotel Porter—Card Business—Lightning Rod Agent—The Accident—Twelve Glasses of Water.
I was born in the good old State of Illinois, my birthplace being on a farm just twenty miles out of Chicago. Here I lived until I was eighteen years of age. My father was fairly well fixed as a farmer and gave me as good an education, both classical and musical, as a country residence could afford. In those early days of my life the western half of the United States was virtually in its infancy, and all around me, in whatever direction the eye might turn, new enterprises were being launched with a view to development of the country. Reading of these created a desire on my part to see some of them, and perhaps take my humble part in the great work of building up the new side of the nation.
One day I would read of a new railroad building here; another day of a new town starting there. Fresh sections of the country were being opened up, with hundreds of channels and opportunities for making money. The glowing description of a hundred new Meccas, given by their sanguine projectors, worked my curiosity to a very high tension, and the more I thought of them the stronger grew my desire to get out in the world and see, and before I fairly knew it my mind was made up.
For eighteen long years (pleasant ones I must confess) I had lived on the farm, and had never so much as ridden on a railroad train. No wonder I thought it high time to get out and see with my own eyes what was going on in this great, round world, looking meantime for the niche in it which I was to fill.
One day I told father of my desires and intentions. He ridiculed my ideas, and, when that was of no avail, tried solid argument. He showed me that farming was an honorable and sure profession, and the life of the farmer one that was both pleasant and independent. He went on to say that if I remained with him I would grow up to be a respected citizen, and eventually become owner of the farm. If I aspired to political honors I could obtain almost anything I wanted. I could be a member of the district school board. At some later day I might be township trustee, or even reach the sublime position of a county commissioner.
But, no. The seed had been sown, and it was too late to pull up the sprouted plant. I wanted to travel and see something of the world. I was determined to have experience with and insight into the rugged, rough and rapid side of life—and I got it. I was just burning up with enthusiasm. I desired to move around, to expand, to go out and “hustle,” and grow rich myself, if I could.
I confess I hated to leave my parents and the good old home, though the conversation with my father showed me that his opposition would not be extreme. I lingered around for several days, unwilling to declare my positive intention, but awaiting some favorable opportunity and good excuse to cut loose from the ties of home.
Both came. I went out one day with father to build a shed for the chickens, and an argument arose as to the best way of proceeding. He wanted his way; I wanted mine. The controversy continued until father got mad and shoved me aside, calling me a d— fool.
It was the nearest approach to swearing I had ever heard him make. My chance had come. Picking up my coat, and facing my worthy lord, I said:
“Dad, I have the honor, sir, of being your son.”
With that I returned to the house. Three days later I left the farm.
On the morning of my departure I embraced my dear old mother and my sister, and accompanied by my father drove into “town.” We stopped at a place then known as lower State Street.
We conversed together for some minutes, he giving me the usual, good, fatherly advice, with a “God bless you, my son,” etc. At last he turned to go, and as he did so slipped a twenty-dollar bill into my hand, while I could see the tears starting in his eyes at what seemed to him almost an eternal parting. I watched the going of the good old man as far as I could see him, and those were the most unpleasant moments of my whole life. I believe, had I possessed the nerve, I would have taken the first wagon I could find going that way and returned home.
I was in for it, however, and having decided in my mind that I had to stick it out, this feeling soon wore off in the light of the strange sights and stranger fancies inspired in a pedestrian tour through the heart of Chicago.
My first desire was to become somewhat acquainted with the city. I was not yet worrying about “a job,” for I had plenty of money in my pocket. Including the twenty dollars given me by father, my store of wealth reached the almost fabulous amount of one hundred dollars, and I had a strong suspicion that before that could give out I would become a millionaire.
Being from the country, everything looked grand to me. I bought every fake that was in sight, and took in everything that came along. For days the revelry was high. Side-shows and museums charmed me. I listened to the patter of the street venders, allowing myself to be “worked” by every one of them. I patronized liberally the street musicians, and even dropped a little coin with the fortune tellers. For a time I lived in this kind of a fool’s paradise. Then I retired to my room and took an account of stock.
I found I had bought numerous kinds of soap, many bottles of cologne, and fewer of medicine that would cure every ailment ever heard of on earth. I had tin whistles galore, and all the useless knick-knacks under the sun.
I also had three dollars and eighty cents in cash. When this balance was struck I understood that it was time for serious work to begin. I threw away the whole batch of impracticable accumulations and began to hunt round for something to do.
After “looking around” all day, and meeting with many rebuffs, I succeeded in getting a job in a hotel as a sort of all-round rustler.
Being a strong country lad the heavy work all fell to my share; and I want to tell you right now that before the second day was over I fully realized what it was to be away from home, and thrown out into the world upon my own resources. I was made to handle heavy baggage, carry water and coal, and do a thousand other things for which my main capacity was strength and awkwardness.
I was guyed by every one and given nicknames of every sort. Some would call me “Sport;” others, “Snipes,” “Jiggers,” “His Nibs,” while all ordered me around as if I were really and truly a nobody, instead of the son of a well-to-do farmer not over twenty miles away.
I slept in a large inside room upstairs with the rest of the male help, which was all packed in together, colored, white and all. The other boys took it good naturedly, and I was forced to. My salary was the enormous sum of two dollars and fifty cents a week, which was increased a little by the “tips” I occasionally received. Unfortunately for me, the boys around the hotel taught me how to shoot dice, play poker and seven-up, and even flip-at-the-crack. At none of these games was I a success, and at the end of the month it was a certainty that I would be “busted.”
After a few months of this I was brought to my senses, however, and decided to quit the hotel business, since, for me, there was no money in it, and little prospect of promotion.
Traveling men had patronized the hotel quite liberally, and I had always marked them as a lot of jolly, happy-go-lucky fellows, whose every pocket seemed to be lined with gold. Ah, if I could only be one of them and get on the road! If some house would furnish me a line of samples and start me out, then I, too, could wear good clothes, have plenty of money, order some poor fools around in the way I had been ordered, and perhaps make my mark in the world. I thought then that the only man in the world was the drummer (and I think so yet for that matter).
Unfortunately, try as I might, I found no way to break into the ranks. The managers of every wholesale house I went to laughed at me. When I asked for a position the jobber would always inquire who I had been with and what I was doing at present. When I answered that I was first assistant porter and commander-in-chief of the water and coal conveying department of the Robber Roost Hotel, they would smile and say, “No, my son; I’m sorry, but I can’t do anything for you today.” You see, I had neither experience, reputation nor references.
In addition to my personal explorations I scanned the want columns of the daily papers, in the hope of finding something which would suit my case. One day I read the following ad.:
“Wanted—A young man to canvass and sell our new line of calling cards. Every lady wants them and buys them on sight. Large sample outfit free. $15.00 per week easily made.”
To make a long story short, I called at once and made arrangements with the firm to sell calling cards. In this way I received my first real start in life, and was initiated into the ranks of Fakirdom.
The nature of my arrangement with the card firm amounted to about this. They were to furnish samples, I was to solicit orders, collect cash as the order was taken, turn over half of the money to them, keeping the other half myself, and they were to fill orders as soon as possible.
Well, I started out the following morning, and I’ll never forget that day as long as I live. I went clear to the outskirts of the city and rang my first door bell.
The lady of the house answered in person, and when she faced me I had neither nerve nor courage to explain my business. I began to grow red in the face and nervous. I weakly asked for a glass of water, which I drank, and then departed. I had the same experience at the next house, and after drinking twelve glasses of water went back to my room, disgusted with myself and everybody else.
In the afternoon I screwed my courage up a few notches higher and went out again, with the determination to do or die. I knew I had a fine line of cards, and the boss told me they would sell themselves. I vowed that at least they should have a chance. I showed them to a few ladies, and finally succeeded in taking my first order, for twenty-five cents. With that I felt encouraged, and went after them right. I did one dollar and twenty cents worth of business that afternoon, making sixty cents for myself. Just think of it. A man in the heart of Chicago, with his fortune all to make, and after walking his legs off all day, coming in at night with sixty cents as his portion, and board to pay out of it at that.
But the ice had been broken; the plunge had been made, and I was proud and happy over the result. I stuck to the card business for some months, finally getting so I could make from one to two dollars a day at it.
One day I chanced to fall into conversation with a lightning rod agent, who had taken a room in the house where I boarded. In a short time we struck up quite a friendship, and he proposed that I should travel with him. In consideration of my services, which would be only in helping him put up the rods, he agreed to pay all my expenses, teach me the business, and allow me to sell calling cards on the side.
I accepted, and here let me say that I never fully realized what a truly typical lightning rod agent was until I started out with this man. I had heard of them, and remembered that my father was trimmed up to the tune of a couple of hundred dollars by one, but I never understood the breadth of intellect, fertility of resource and depths of trickery displayed in the legitimate pursuit of this vocation until I had obtained an inside view of the game.
I traveled with Mr. Carlysle for a long while, working the country, and the towns as we passed through them. As this is to be largely a record of my own personal performances, I shall not give the details of this trip, except that I learned all that was going, which was a great deal. At the end of it we were on our way to Davenport, Iowa. I was getting tired of the business, and intended to quit when we reached that destination. I had twenty-three dollars in cash to show for my seven months’ work, and figured on fixing myself up a little and looking for a job. I could not travel and sell calling cards exclusively, since there was not enough in it to justify the expense, and I thought it high time for me to look around for some broader and more profitable field.
Just as we got within a mile of the city our horse shied at a runaway team and Mr. Carlysle was thrown out of the wagon, run over, and both legs broken. He was taken into the city; and hotel, doctor and medicine bills broke us both as flat as anything you ever saw.
I tried to get a job, but could not find a thing. I was known as the lightning rod agent’s friend, and no one would have me at any price. It seemed as though every one there had a dread, or horror, of a lightning rod man and all his belongings. Mr. Carlysle was taken to the charity hospital, while I was turned out of the hotel to hustle the best I could.
Just imagine! There I was, a perfect stranger, not knowing a soul, hundreds of miles from home, without a cent in my pocket, and unable to get a thing to do.
Should I become a tramp, begging at back doors for handouts of broken victuals; or would it be best to starve and be done with it? One way or the other, it looked as though these questions would soon have to be settled.
CHAPTER II.
Busted—Soap Signs—Walking—The Two Actors—Free Theatres—Jumping Bills—The Other Fakir—Pen Scheme—Street Talk—The Friendly Haystack.
Every man who has ever rustled on the road has had his experiences with that peculiar disease known as shortness of cash. I believe I have been “busted” more times than any other man on earth; and I am sure that the disease never elsewhere struck me with half the stunning force then it did when adrift and alone in the streets of Davenport.
It was positively my first experience of the kind. At home it was nothing strange to have an empty pocket from one week’s end to another; but what of that? Board was free, and a roof-tree overhead, while the paternal pocket was ready to respond to any demands within reason. In Chicago my finances had been perilously near to low water mark, but that needed to cause no uneasiness. A walk of a day and I could be feasting on the fatted calf.
But to be stranded in Davenport was a different matter. I remember, in the midst of my troubles, there popped into my head an old couplet, learned in my days at the public school:
“Take heart, nor of the laws of fate complain; Though now it be cloudy, it will clear up again.”
With that in my mind I took on a moral brace and marched down the street, willing to meet fate half way, and looking for something to do that might show a profit, however small.
I found it.
Had I not been cut out by nature, and the special design of Providence for the vocation which I have so successfully followed, it is more than likely I would have sat down, with my head on my hands, and wept. I confess I felt like it for a moment. When I had resolutely thrust such weakness out of my mind, and taken a calmer view of the situation, I saw a glimmer of light ahead.
A miserably written placard in a store window furnished the inspiration.
In my early school days if there was any one thing I excelled in it was penmanship, and with decent opportunity, and a propulsion in such direction, I might have made a fair draughtsman, or a very decent sign painter. Whether I would have made a fortune or not is another question.
At this moment of distress I remembered some “work” I had seen done in Chicago by a traveling “artist,” and that for the sake of amusement I had tried my hand at it for an hour. I went back to the hotel, and begged or borrowed a piece of soap. Then I worked store after store for sign work, promising to put up a magnificent one on each window, done in soap froth, for the inconsiderable sum of ten cents.
The thing was new to the most of them, and perhaps curiosity helped me. I was curious myself to know what I could do; and am not sure whether I was glad or sorry when the first merchant told me to fall to work.
But at it I went. A dozen strokes gave me confidence, and half a dozen jobs gave me skill. I made one dollar during the rest of the day, and two and a half the next. I lived on crackers and cheese the whole time, and cleaned the windows of a livery barn for permission to sleep in the office. The third day I had apparently exhausted the field, business fell off, and I determined to leave the town.
First, I went to the hospital, to take leave of Mr. Carlysle, and tried to force on him a share of my earnings. He refused, as at present he was well taken care of, and expected a small remittance in a few days, when he hoped to be sufficiently recovered to leave the city and attend to some business which would probably net him a little money. Bidding him good-bye, I slung my budget on my back and took to the ties, without any fair idea of where I was going or what I should do. I had a cash capital of three or four dollars in my pocket, and the art of making soap-foam signs at my fingers’ ends. I had also heard of a pressing want for laborers in a construction gang which was working on an intersecting railroad, and if the worst came to the worst I was able to handle a shovel or pick against the best of them. I was not brought up on a farm for nothing.
The sign business stayed with me fairly well. Even the smallest towns were willing to pay for an exhibition of my skill, and hard times soon developed a faculty for economical living. I cleared my expenses, at least, and some days did a trifle more. Of course, this was better than nothing, but was not satisfactory to my ambition. At such a rate fortune was a long way off, and it seemed to me the time was about ripe for something else, even though it should turn out to be no better.
When I once began to look about me it was not long before the something else turned up. I followed the railroad track, to make sure of good walking, and on the ties one morning I fell in with a couple of actors, whose finances were even at a lower ebb than mine. They were all-round variety people, and had their musical instruments with them, but there was not a cent of money in the whole outfit.
It did not take long for us to fraternize, especially as I carried a store of cold victuals which, at a pinch, might serve as a lunch for all of us. At noon we stopped at a spring in the shade of the woods, and, after making a moderate meal, put our heads together in a consultation as to the future.
The men were somewhat acquainted with this part of the country, and spoke of a small town a short distance ahead, where a hall could be obtained at a very moderate expense. We decided, if possible, to arrange for the use of this hall on sharing terms, and give a grand, free entertainment, to be interspersed with a collection.
We all “managed” the venture. By this time I had rubbed off quite a large percentage of the moss with which I was ornamented when first making my entrance into public life, and had wit enough to conceal a total ignorance of the show business and its possibilities. We arranged for the hall, on the percentage plan, and advertised ourselves by a little playing and singing on the street, an occasional blast from the horn that one of the party could really use in a rather creditable manner, and an announcement which I made at the top of my voice, and as near after the manner of a side-show “blower,” as I knew how:
“Free entertainment this evening at eight thirty, at Bixley’s Hall. Fun by the barrel and music by the cord. Singing and dancing by the world renowned Milton Brothers, and an afterpiece that will split your side. Leave your buttons at home if you don’t want them busted; and don’t get your measure taken for a new suit of clothes until the show is over. You are bound to laugh and grow fat.”
This, and other nonsense, I howled out at the top of my voice, and before I had been at it a quarter of an hour “the Milton Brothers” wanted to know with what show I had last been hitting the road. They had a curiosity to know who else was stranded. You may be certain I did not give myself away, and yet I returned a fairly satisfactory answer.
Had we charged even a nickel I doubt if we could have drummed up the skeleton of an audience; but for a free entertainment—it was immense. The people came in crowds, and responded nobly when the “deacon” passed the hat.
There is all the difference in the world in towns and the crowds you gather in them. This crowd was willing to be amused, came to be amused, and had made up its mind not to be disappointed. They were with us from start to finish, and when we “counted up the house” found the collection amounted to within a fraction of twenty dollars. After paying for the hall, and some little incidental expenses, we had remaining about three dollars and a half apiece, and a large stock of confidence in the future.
That party was a wise one in its day and generation. The weather was delightful, the roads good, the moon near to full; for these reasons, and others, we took a promenade after the show was out. In other words, we saved the expense of a hotel bill, and went on to the next town, getting what rest we wanted in a friendly haystack along the road. While the Milton Brothers’ combination lasted we paid the hotels less money, and lived better, than I had thought possible. We had generally got in too late for dinner, and an order for supper was enough to insure the moral support of the landlord. Probably he was disappointed that he did not see the color of our money, but that was no matter.
The business was grand while it lasted, and I continued to be a showman for some time. We went from town to town, walking when the distance was not too great, riding in box-cars sometimes, giving entertainments similar to the first, occupying halls when we could get them, but content with an empty store or dining room in the hotel at which we temporarily stopped. Sometimes, of course, there was very little profit, but oftener there was a fair dividend. Before long we had accumulated at least twenty dollars apiece. Passing through a large town, we succeeded in getting hold of a quantity of old lithographs and pictorial sheets. With these posters and a few small streamers and dodgers we billed a smaller town not far away for a “Grand Theatrical Entertainment,” charging regular prices of admission.
Success was with us. After counting up the house, and deducting expenses, we found we were on the sunny side of fifty dollars.
Such a result as this was too much for us. We began to think that our time had come. Bob Milton talked of telegraphing for “people” to join us on ahead; and all of us figured up the cost of putting a show on the road that would carry eight or ten actors, and play the larger towns.
Had I even imagined myself born to the buskin, I suppose I would have taken up with the idea as enthusiastically as anyone. Fortunately, the footlights had never cast their glamour over me, and I had always regarded this venture as a makeshift and a stepping-stone. When I had done a few sums in addition, subtraction, multiplication and division, I suggested that the time was hardly ripe for such a scheme. We were doing very well as it was, among the smaller towns, where theatres had no season, and the population could not, and would not, support a regular company. As for playing the larger towns, I did not believe it could be done for a month yet; and, meanwhile, if we tried it, we would have abundant opportunity to drop our little capital and become hopelessly involved. I thought it would be the part of wisdom to keep on as we had been doing, playing on velvet, and week by week adding to our slender store; otherwise, I thought I could retire from the show business.
To this view the boys finally and grumblingly consented, after having obtained my consent, by way of compromise, to hiring a hall at a fair-sized town not far away, and trying again the racket of a fine entertainment.
I think I had a presentment of failure, and presentments are not things to be trifled with. Surely, nothing ever fell quite so flat as that night’s work. We had to procure a license, we had to put up five dollars in advance on the hall rent, our hotel bill was of respectable proportions, there were other incidental expenses—and we gave no show at all. There was no gang at the door that night, no rush for the front seats, no audience, no money, no nothing. A dozen boys and men presented themselves at the door, but the most of them were dead-heads. They filed dismally into the hall, and filed more dismally out again. The “house remained dark” after all. The Miltons concluded that it was more profitable to dismiss the audience and immediately “skip by the light of the moon” than to remain and wrestle with such complications as the balance of the hall rent, the hotel bill, and other like troubles which fate might send them.
Though the venture had made considerable inroad on our capital, I cannot say that I was particularly cast down, being full of that exhilaration which comes from the ability and the right to say, “I told you so.” I objected, moreover, to the shirking of a bill which we had the means to pay without its causing us any serious financial embarrassment. Also, I was interested in the possible cause of our failure, which was a street fakir, whose harangue I had heard from the doorway of the hall, where I was in attendance.
Up to this time any little efforts I had made upon the lines which I have so long followed with such great success, had been addressed to the individual rather than to the crowd. I had heard street talkers, to be sure, but had never analyzed their methods, or thought seriously of following the profession.
I had wit of my own, however, and from the moment this fellow set up his stand I recognized the finger of destiny, and made the most of my opportunity. He was an orator in his way, and I can not do better here than to give the sum and substance of a discourse which put much money in his purse, and wrecked the Milton Theatrical Combination.
He was selling pens.
The article was good enough of its kind, and one probably familiar to the reader. It was brass, but looked like gold, and so flexible that it could stand any sort of abuse, except continuous writing, without being harmed in the least.
He had his little folding, three-legged stand, a torch, and a rough piece of board. He would rub the point of the pen up and down and jab it into the rough surface of the board, spread the points apart, put them together again, and then, filling it with ink, write and shade as artistically as you please. All the time he was so maltreating the poor pen he was keeping up a running fire of talk:
“Hey there, everybody! Come right this way. There is plenty of time. The show won’t open for half an hour, and meanwhile I want the chance to do you good. I would like to give away lots of money—fives, tens, twenties, fifties—everything up to a hundred dollar bill. I’m a down-town, Eastern Yankee millionaire, and I’ve got more money than I know what to do with. If you’ll lend me your attention for a few moments I’ll make every mother’s son of you rich and happy—in your mind at least.
“Here is a little article known as the automatic, Goldentine pen. It reads, writes and talks in sixty-four different languages, and is one of the handiest little articles you ever gazed on.
“It is small, gentlemen, but one of the toughest little staples that was ever brought into the world to bless mankind.
“In the first place, I will ask some gentleman from the audience to select a pen from the box. Any one in the lot will do. They are all exactly alike, so it makes no difference which one you take. Ah, thank you, sir. Now, I will take this pen, place it in this handsome penholder, and then rub the point up and down on this rough, pine board, in this manner, just as you would a stick. That should be a good enough test to convince anyone, but we will not stop at that. I’ll take the little pen and stick it into the board, just as though it was a knife-blade. And not only that. I’ll take the little points of the pen and bend them apart till they have the appearance of just getting over a drunk.
“I know it looks hard to so abuse a little thing like this—but like a careful curator, we’ll just place the points back in their original position like this, stick the little pen in the ink like that, just as though nothing had ever happened to it. There is its work on the paper. You saw it done or you wouldn’t have believed it. Is it not beautiful? The lines are fine enough, and graceful enough, to satisfy the dreams of an artist—‘fair as the sun, clear as the moon, gentlemen, and beautiful as an army with banners.’
“If you want to write cross-eyed, or left-handed, it works just the same; and when it comes to German, French, Spanish, Danish, Irish, Scotch, Latin or Choctaw, the employment is identical. If you wish to come up and try before you buy, you are at perfect liberty to do so.
“I have here, also, a stock of beautiful silver-nickel penholders, that cost you a quarter the world over, and I couldn’t sell them to you at any less. As a special inducement for your patronage, I’ll make this proposition:
“Every man who buys a box of pens, one dozen in a box, gets two of these elegant holders, free, gratis, without cost or consideration. Who is the first man to pass up a quarter?
“Hurry up, gentlemen, I’ve only got about ten more minutes to talk to you before the show begins.” (The wretch was perhaps postponing the beginning of that show until the outer end of eternity, for there was a suspicion in the crowd that he belonged to it, and that nothing would be done in the hall until he ceased talking outside.) “If you came to me after that and offered me fifty dollars for a single pen I wouldn’t sell to you. Live and let live is my motto, and I never would do anything to interfere with another man’s business. It is probably the first, last and only time in your lives that you will have the chance to buy the Automatic, Indestructible, Goldentine Pen at any such figures, and if you go to your jeweler he will charge you a dollar and a half or two dollars for an article not half so good. Where are—ah, yes. Here they come, here they come. Don’t crowd so, my friends, I’ll get around to you all by and by.”
That was the substance of his opening oration, but he had jokes by the dozen and could hold the crowd at will. I am not sure but that the first purchasers were dummies, as the boys who came and broke the ice had a sheepish look; but the ice was fairly broken, and for quite a while he drove a roaring trade.
By the time I had got from under his hypnotic spell, my late companions were a mile or more out of town, and I was once more free to follow my own inclination and devices.
What of that? This time I was not busted, and I saw glimpses of a promising land ahead.
CHAPTER III.
Meeting Prof. Carter—The Music Scheme—Flowers and Novelties—The Ladies—The Soap Racket—Street Gags and Jokes—The Sinking Vessel.
I did not allow myself to be troubled over the disappearance of the other members of the Milton Combination. In such an affair every tub has to stand on its own bottom, and I had no visible baggage which the hall owner could attach, or any irate landlord claim as his own until all scores were paid.
I went around to the hotel and coolly informed the proprietor that the manager and his partner had skipped, leaving my salary unpaid, but that, fortunately, I had enough to settle my own modest bill for the night, and that if he chose I would pay it then and there. Despite his ill humor over the loss of a few dollars, I think I must have succeeded in arousing his sympathy, for he touched my purse but lightly, and treated me pleasantly enough.
It is quite possible I would have gone with the rest of the Combination, or started out on a moon-light journey by myself, had it not been that I wanted to see more of that fakir. I knew now that he was stopping at the same hotel, and thought I recognized in him a kindred spirit, with whom it might be well to confer. He came in half an hour or so after I did, and, being in high good humor over his evening’s work, I did not find him at all hard to approach.
Of course, at the outset, I was cautious about letting him see my motive, and I opened the conversation by saying in a jocular manner that I had to thank him for breaking up our show. The people were not going to pay to see it when they could get something as good or better outside for nothing.
“See here, pard, you don’t mean to say you’re in earnest? I’m business to the hub, you understand; but I meant just what I told them over there when I said I wouldn’t make a sale after you began. How hard are you up against it? I’m willing to make a fair divvy.”
He put his hand in his pocket as he spoke, and I guess he actually meant it.
I told him I was all right and that he needed to feel no concern. I had been opposed to the venture here from the start, and was not at all averse to a separation from my companions, as I was about tired of the show business, anyhow.
I answered some questions which he asked; and then, in turn, grew a little inquisitive. By this time we had got back in the corner, with no one to hear us if we talked in a moderate tone, and he spoke very freely.
He admitted that he had made a very fair evening’s work of it. The pens he sold at twenty-five cents a dozen cost him thirty-five a gross, and the boxes and penholders were not sufficiently expensive to make a very large hole in his profits. He thought perhaps he would remain in the place at least for another day. “The pen business,” he said, “is only a side line, to work in the evenings, and I haven’t covered the town yet in my canvass.”
“Then you don’t confine yourself to the sale of pens?” I asked. I had supposed the profits of the evening were sufficient to satisfy almost any man.
“Not by a jug full,” he answered; “you’ve only got one life at your finger ends, and if you want them to stick fast to much of anything you’ve got to keep moving. And then, you’re liable at any moment to strike a town that has been worked on some particular racket, and you’ve got to have another up your sleeve. I have half a dozen of them. If a place isn’t ripe for one, another is sure to win.”
“Good! You are just the man I have been wanting to see. Don’t you need an apprentice? I have never done much open-air talking to a crowd, but I have always had an idea that I would be great at something of that kind.”
My blunt proposition took him somewhat aback; but he saw that I was in earnest, and looked me over.
“My friend, you appear as though you might be cut out for a business man. I don’t, as a rule, need any help, but if you have a little money, and think I can do you any good, I don’t mind giving you a start. I can’t do anything with you in this town, though. You have given them all an idea of what your line of business is, and for the present couldn’t change the opinion. You couldn’t give away a box of pens and throw in a dime. You’ll have to wait till we get to the next place. Then you’ll find out pretty quick what you are good for.”
I was well enough satisfied with this, as the night before our haystack had been uncomfortable, and I had a feeling that I not only wanted a good night’s rest, but that I had earned it, and the following day I rested, accordingly.
“Do you know anything about music?” my companion asked, as we prepared to leave the place.
I answered that I did; that I had some knowledge of notes, was particularly apt at catching up a tune by ear, and even had a smattering knowledge of the piano and violin.
“Good. All that won’t hurt you just now. I have been working the cheap music racket by daylight, and it has not turned out so badly. I expect to do a bigger business in the next place, though, and I’ll work it in a different way. My pens are all sold out, and I’ll have no side lines to sell till I meet my next lot.”
At that I asked him some questions about the music business, and he briefly explained.
In these degenerate days music, like everything else, has become cheap. In the times I am speaking of sheet music commanded a pretty stiff price at retail; and if we could only sell enough of it there was a chance for an enormous profit, even when sold away below regular rates, and there were chances to buy at wholesale “cheap” sheet music which cost but a song.
All this my companion, whose name was Carter, explained as we went along. There was really so little of a “fake” about what he proposed to do that I hardly believed he would have the success he seemed to anticipate.
Nevertheless, it all worked to a charm. The town selected was just large enough to have a number of amateur pianists and vocalists, and not sufficiently extensive for a store which kept sheet music in any great quantity.
There was a piano in the parlor of the hotel where we opened up, and almost the first act of Carter was to thump it vigorously, and after what looked to be quite an artistic fashion. He had me plaster the town with bills and posters which we found there in a bundle awaiting us, announcing the presence of Prof. Carter and an immense stock of the most popular and fashionable music, which, in consequence of business affairs calling him to the east, he would sell on the easiest terms. Music for which the stores usually charged from thirty-five cents to several dollars he would sell at from fifteen up to seventy-five cents. And he had a list of the very choicest selections, which would be sold even lower. The names of the most classical and popular pieces were given, and it was also announced that the Professor could be consulted on musical matters, and the choice of pieces for consecutive practice, during his short stay.
For the first few days the ladies came flocking in, and usually bought from three to six pieces. Sometimes we sold as high as ten selections to one lady.
I soon saw that “The Professor” had a fair knowledge of his business, although, no doubt, his musical acquirements were somewhat superficial. The advice he gave gratuitously was sometimes equal to a high-priced lesson, and I wondered why he did not make an effort to follow the profession after a legitimate and exclusive manner. But he would not have been a fakir had he done that; and I confess he was one of the best all-round men I ever saw.
While he had a fair stock of the popular, catchy songs of the day, I noticed the price of it was the nearest to that marked by the publishers; while his greatest efforts to sell were made along the lines of “classical gems,” and easy selections, which he would rapidly arrange together as a graduated system of practice. These pieces cost him the least of any in the lot. He could generally gauge pretty accurately the musical acquirements of a lady, and once she entered into conversation with him he was pretty sure to sell, not only the one piece she had thought of buying, but half a dozen or more.
I was of some slight assistance in the music deal, but the part I had to play related to something else, of which, in the start, I knew little or nothing, but under the rapid instructions of the Professor I soon comprehended sufficiently to elicit his strong approval.
He had along with the music a nice little line of fancy feathers, flowers and other little novelties, which he placed in my charge, and though I had never handled such things before, it is an actual fact that the end of the first day found me talking as glibly about them as any milliner in the land. When the last customer had departed Carter turned to me and observed:
“No use, Jim, you’ve got it in you, and you’ll never be anything else.”
“Else than what?” I inquired.
“A fakir. Anyone who can talk up female fixtures and furbelows as you have done, without knowing any more about them than you do, and never make a break, is bound to scratch his mark. From the way you manipulate the dainty things you might have the touch for a slight-of-hand performer and magician, but with that smooth tongue of yours I fancy you have chosen about right.”
I suppose I blushed at his praise, but tried to take it as a matter of course, and asked what he would have done if customers had refused to call.
“Oh, called on them, if I thought the town was worth the working. Otherwise, I would have shifted my base and tried something else. A man should always try to have a little money where he can get hold of it in case of need, and keep a dodge or two ahead of his customers, so that if one fails to work he’ll have another to bring on.”
“But no dodge ought to fail,” I put in. “If you have the thing the people want they are bound to buy it; and if they don’t want it now, make them want it by the time you get through. That is my idea of the business.”
“And a very good one it is; only, sometimes, receipts don’t balance expenditures, and then it is about time to quit and try something else. I can talk as well as the next, but I have an occasional failure myself. It looks as though business would last here for several days yet. By that time we will be pretty well out of sorts, and I’ve a nice stock of soap coming for the next stand. If you want to try your hand I’ll let you do the talking, and see what you can do with it.”
The professor was right in his predictions. The ladies who patronized us the first day sent others on the second, and returned themselves on the third. When we left, it was with the good will of the entire community, and no inconsiderable quantity of their coin.
When Professor Carter changed from music and millinery to soap he did not think it at all necessary to change his name at the same time. Indeed, his name was on the packages, and the article he put out was a successful curiosity. By the time we got to work he had drilled me thoroughly on its history and merits.
It was known as Doctor Carter’s Peerless Soap-salve. It could be used for either a soap or a salve; the total cost of manufacturing it, without wrappers, was less than five cents a cake. I know that it sold freely at twenty-five.
We had a little preliminary practice before reaching the town which was to be the scene of operations, and I appeared before the crowd confident in my ability, and anxious to test the glibness of my tongue. The doctor had given me the patter he usually employed, and of course I expected to use it as an outline, subject to alteration as occasion permitted or required. He carried a violin, and it did not take long to draw a crowd.
There was, of course, no haste in getting to the sales. I began by telling what the soap-salve was good for. I gave them a little historical lecture on all soap in general, and this soap in particular. Finally, to illustrate how far a small portion would go, I took a large sponge, which had been passed around for examination. As the doctor handed it to me he concealed in it a cake of soap. From another cake I had made a few shavings, and having poured a little water over the sponge the amount of lather I made appear from those shavings was a caution; and the crowd was about in shape to appreciate the story I then told, which was about as follows:
“More than that, gentlemen and ladies—for I see there are a few of the latter in the audience, and I wish there were more—I want to tell you how the lives of four hundred people were, on a memorable occasion, saved by this very identical soap.
“I was on a large steamship, on my way to England. Upon a beautiful morning, when the sun had been shining brightly in the heavens, and dancing in great waves over the white-crested billows, peace and harmony and happiness prevailing among the passengers, a sudden and severe wind storm came up. Black clouds overcast the sky, and the wind blew so strong that the huge vessel was tossed about as though a mere toy.
“Every one on board became excited. Women screamed and fainted. Down in the cabin a group was gathered to pray for safe deliverance from the wrath of the hurricane. We were doomed. In a few moments the vessel ran upon hidden rocks, the boilers exploded, and our ship was on fire.
“There we were, on a burning vessel, stranded upon the rocks, and far, far from shore. Death and a watery grave stared us in the face. Can you imagine our despair?
“No time was to be lost. We must act, and act quickly. The life boats were lowered; but they could not hold all the passengers, so that we had to shift as best we could. I helped the women, and some of the men, into the boats, and then found, to my horror, there was no room for me.
“I picked up my valise, which was filled with this soap, grabbed the gang-plank of the vessel, and jumped into the ocean.
“My valise had no sooner struck the water than the soap began to foam. The bubbles grew, and kept increasing in size until they resembled a mountain of snow. Would you believe it? Every one of those four hundred heart-broken passengers jumped on that huge lump of lather and floated safely to shore.
“Now, my friends, was not that wonderful? So happy were they all when they landed that they chipped in a dollar each, every man ordering a cake sent to his address as soon as I could receive a fresh supply to replace that lost in their salvation.
“But tonight, my friends, I am not going to charge you a dollar a cake. You have not yet been ship-wrecked, though it is as well for you to prepare. Twenty-five cents is all that I shall ask you, and then you will be ready for the direst extremity and the darkest emergency.
“Now, then, who takes the first cake?”
“You do,” shouted a voice from the crowd, and the laugh was on me.
Nevertheless, I accepted the turn so readily, and put it aside so neatly, that it was all the better, since I had the crowd with me. Before the evening was over the stock was sold out slick and clean.
CHAPTER IV.
The Contemptible Piano Tuner—The Biographical Write-up Fake—The Flattered Blacksmith.
“There are tricks in all trades but ours,” quoted the doctor that night, when he had returned to the hotel.
“And I suppose the reason there are no tricks in our trade is because there is positively no epidermis to hold them. It is trickery and nothing else.
“Nevertheless, there are tricks; and there are other tricks. I have no patience with the others. My principle, as I have already explained, is to always give a man the worth of his money at ordinary, every-day market prices. If an emergency arises when I can’t do that I try and see that he receives no damage. The fakir that sells a tooth-wash which will eat the enamel off the first application, and crumble the teeth to the gums by the third, deserves to be hung.
“It is a little strange,” he added, reflectively, “how some of the gang can talk the senses out of the average individual, and make him see that black is white. I don’t approve of such methods, and it rather gratifies me when I see a fakir of that class come to grief.
“I remember once, when I was selling bibles up in Minnesota, I had the extreme pleasure of seeing one of the meanest, most contemptible little scoundrels of the species arrested and brought to justice. On the chance of making a trifling ten dollars for himself he had done more than that much damage, which he did not know how to properly repair, and possibly ruined a six hundred dollar instrument. And he seemed to have been working the scheme right along until he was accidentally caught up by a young lady—upon whom I happened to call, in the midst of the wreck, for the purpose of introducing my fine line of cottage bibles.
“You understand, I love a fine piano, and have a sneaking regard for an instrument of almost any kind. But this was, or had been, a good one, and the way the fellow temporarily ruined it was this:
“The house stood by itself, with vacant lots on either side. He walked up to the front and knocked. When the young lady came to the door he looked up inquiringly, and then slowly and in a disappointed manner, as though speaking to himself, remarked:
“‘I can’t understand it.’
“‘Understand what?’ asked the young lady.
“Before answering he consulted a card in his hand, which had some penciling on the back.
“‘Why, I am the traveling tuner of the Mittlebache Piano Company. Yesterday somebody sent an order to me at the hotel to call at number 413, this street. There is no such number, I see; but as this is 415 I thought I would drop in and see if you were not the lady.’
“‘No, sir; I am not,’ was the answer.
“‘By the way, what is the name of your piano?’
“‘Oh, mine is rather an old one. It is called the Wilson,’
“‘You don’t say so. I hardly expected to find one of them in this part of the country; but it is the coming instrument. We carry a line of them at our headquarters. Wilson seems to be the one man who has mastered the art of making a piano which improves by age. The instrument ought to be like a violin in that respect, but you know, of course, that the output of the average piano manufacturer is not.’
“While carrying on this conversation he walked into the house, the lady remarking:
“I supposed the make was out of the market. I never hear of it now at all, and this is the only one I ever saw,’
“‘Not at all, not at all; Wilson is conservative, and don’t want to put out any more pianos than he can build on honor. I understand he always has orders ahead for a year. I should have thought you would have noticed in the papers the account of the magnificent ones he has lately put in the White House. He don’t advertise; he don’t have to. No piano manufacturer does until his sales fall off. Ah, yes. One of the early make; but it ought to be a good one, nevertheless.’
“By this time he was on the stool, fingers spread out, and he ran over the scales for a moment, at a great rate, a frown gradually darkening his face.
“‘Who in the world tuned this piano?’ he asked.
“The lady mentioned the name of the tuner, and added that it was some months since he had done the work.
“I should think so. It’s not in tune even a little bit, and sounds as though there was something wrong inside. Don’t you want me to fix it for you? I’ll do the tuning for one dollar, and straighten up everything else for a trifle. I’ve a little time to spare before dinner, as it don’t seem likely that I can find that lady. Only one dollar for the tuning.’
“The colossal cheek of the man, and the low price he named for the work, naturally had their effect, and she looked at him hesitatingly. He turned up his cuffs and asked for a piece of flannel with which to dust off the piano, remarking in a jocular way that he would not charge for doing that.
“Unsuspectingly, the young lady hustled off for the flannel, and while she was out of the room he quickly opened the instrument and slipped in a small, artificial mouse’s nest, at the same time snipping a few wires, perhaps doing more damage than he intended. When she returned he was already to show her in what a horrible condition the mice had got her instrument.
“At such a point in the game he usually talked so glibly and smoothly and worked the nerves of his poor victim up to such a tension that she gladly employed him to renovate the affair, and paid him ten dollars, without question, for the work of an hour or so.
“In this case he failed; first, because the young lady had not been entirely hypnotized; and second, because there was neither mouse, rat, nor roach in their house.
“This fact she knew, and that in the interim her instrument had been tuned. She looked the villain in the face and charged him with the full enormity of his rascally act; whereat, he turned and fled.
“I happened on the scene a few minutes later, and it may be it was my counsel which brought the offender to justice.”
Such was the story of the doctor, and he told it with a vim and gusto that made me believe he was in earnest in his denunciation of such a questionable style of faking. I then and there vowed to myself to avoid that class of work; and ever after kept the vow—except in cases of unavoidable necessity.
The question which presented itself to my mind was, what were we to do next. In spite of what Carter had said about always keeping a stock ahead, it seemed to me he had about reached the end of his resources—in other words, he had sold out all his stock in trade. The pens were exhausted, so was the sheet music, so was the soap. I asked him what he intended to do next.
Well, you see, my son, I have been out some time, and had thought of winding up the present campaign and taking a run to New York to look up novelties. I have done first rate this fall, and have a pretty good wad to buy with for the winter’s work.”
“But you can’t keep on through the winter, can you?” I asked, thinking the question would be apt to draw him out and increase my store of knowledge.
“The work goes on, but it is of a different kind. But, as I was going to say, I will stay out a little longer, for the sake of your education; and you will learn that a person in our line of business is not dependent on capital, whether in the shape of money or goods. His brains must be his mainstay and dependence, and the more he knows in the way of general education the better it will be for him. You have a great deal to learn, and if you want to be a success in the field to which you seem to have been called you won’t have an idle moment you can call your own. For the remainder of the week I shall proceed to boom and advertise a town. There is good money in it, although it is not every one who is fitted to work the racket. It takes a man of not only good knowledge of human nature, but of wide experience and considerable journalistic ability.”
Accordingly, the next day we set off for the town he had selected, and which he assured me had not been worked after the fashion he proposed.
B——. was a thriving little city of three or four thousand inhabitants, which had several newspapers that were fairly well supported. The history of this place Dr. Carter already had at his finger ends, and the names of the prominent citizens were more than familiar. He had already looked the ground over, or had it looked over, I was not certain which. This saved him some little time, though I believe he could have gone in, a perfect stranger to every soul, and still met with as thorough a success. I have done it myself more than once when no more promising field of operations appeared to be open.
Our first business call was upon the editor whom Carter had chosen as his local helper.
He introduced himself as Dr. Carter, of the Eastern Globe, out to write up the country and its resources for his paper, but meantime with an eye open for the profit of himself and friend. To describe his scheme briefly, he proposed to the editor, who was also proprietor, to get out a special number of the Daily Hornet, in which should be given a write-up of the city and its business men, the doctor to do the soliciting and literary work, and receive his end of the profits.
Country editors are always susceptible to the word profits, since, with few exceptions, I have found them seriously affected with shortness of cash, and ready to turn an honest dollar at any hour of the day or night.
Mr. Mathews, of the Hornet, was no exception. After the doctor (or professor, whichever you choose to call him) had held him under fire of his verbal battery a short time he made unconditional capitulation, and started out with us to make introductions, gather materials, and prepare the way for contracts.
A few moments’ observation convinced me that the editor was as great a fakir as ourselves, even though he did not wear the badge on his sleeve.
He introduced Mr. Carter, of the East, as of the editorial staff, detailed to make observations through the state with a view to a writing up of its most promising and prominent business men and institutions.
“I have induced him to stop at B——. long enough to give me the assistance of his valuable pen in writing up our city and its noted people, a plan which I have long had in contemplation. I shall get out a special edition of twenty thousand of the number containing the article, and while copies will go all over the state, I shall see that every family in the county is supplied. They will be kept for reference, and I need hardly tell you will be of incalculable value to all parties concerned. We are around interviewing a few of the leading citizens on the subject, and I do not expect to find any difference of opinion as to the importance of the matter.”
The very nature of such an approach was enough to give the prospective customer the swelled head. It pleased him that he was recognized as a solid pillar of the town, and he usually took the bait with a smile, and said:
“Certainly, gentlemen, what can I do for you?”
With that question the editor retired from action, and Carter stepped to the front. He explained that a country was known better by its people than by its natural advantages, and that one live—really and truly live—business man was worth more to a town than a million dollars in capital. There could not be many in B——., but there were some who were influential and prominent, and he proposed to place their biographies where they would be of public record. Of course, their present host was of the number who would receive early attention.
Mixed in with this, and following it, and all around it, was a running fire of questions as to when the gentleman was born, where raised, what great deeds he had performed, how he served in the war, getting in a brief way his whole life and career from the time he was born until the present day, as well as the particulars of the business in which he was engaged. All this, of course, without asking for financial support.
Other calls were made of a similar nature—a good many of them, in fact. And then Professor Carter went to his room at the hotel armed with a battery of pens, ink and paper and began to write. He wrote rapidly and in extravagant praise of the business men of B——. The first sketch read something like this:
“Mr. John Smith, the subject of this sketch, was born in Jim Crow township, Boozer county, Indiana, just fifty-six years ago. When only a boy his father died, forcing him to enter active life at a very tender age. His lot was cast with a blacksmith, and he began with indomitable energy to work his way up. Today Mr. Smith is not only one of our leading business men, but has one of the best equipped blacksmith shops in the state, and enjoys the reputation of being the best horse-shoer in the valley of the Mississippi. At the breaking out of the civil war Mr. Smith enlisted in the —— Indiana Regiment of Volunteers, taking part with the regiment in seventeen different battles. For an act of bravery, in which he carried the flag under a heavy charge, President Lincoln wrote him a personal letter, commending him for the deed. Mr. Smith is one of the pioneers of this city, having lived here ever since the close of the war, so that his name is a household word in B——. Although Mr. Smith is 56 years old, married happily, and has a large family, prominent in social circles, he is still a young looking man, of most prepossessing appearance, public spirited, a leader of men, and universally recognized as the most prominent and logical candidate for mayor at the ensuing election.”
When these articles were written the really serious business of the campaign was at hand. For instance, Carter took this copy to Smith, showed it to him, and read it over for personal correction and approval.
Of course, Smith was pleased.
Doctor Carter tells him he intends to put his engraved picture above the article, and that it is expected the citizens will help out liberally on the enterprise, which not only does justice to them, but will attract attention to the town.
Mr. Smith probably subscribed for fifty copies—twelve dollars and a half—and put up five dollars more, and a photograph, in order that his likeness might grace the pages of the Hornet supplement. If he had been the proprietor of a large mercantile establishment the tariff would most likely have been as much more. Every relative of Mr. John Smith, to the third and fourth generation doubtless received a marked copy of that paper.
Of course, an edition which exceeded the normal output by at least twenty fold was valuable for legitimate advertising, and its space per inch worth a sum which, compared with ordinary numbers, was almost fabulous. Of that fact, Mr. Matthews no doubt made his account, but with it we had nothing to do. When the last bill for write-ups and “cuts” (on these a profit of two to five hundred per cent. was made) had been collected to the uttermost farthing, the doctor professed himself as satisfied, and prepared to move out in search of “fresh fields and pastures green.”
And now the hour of our parting was at hand, and I was to find myself once more adrift, though this time more ready and capable to take up the battle and fight for a fortune.
CHAPTER V.
Fakir Maxims—A Happy Meeting—Auction Business—Talk and Auction Gags—The Boy Auctioneer—Parting With Prof. Carter.
Before we separated the doctor gave me some parting words of admonition.
“My son,” he said, beaming on me in a proud and happy way—for were not his pockets filled to bursting with the result of the raid on B——.? “it is dead easy to work the public if you have confidence in yourself, and a thorough understanding of the people with whom you deal.
“I have been in the business a good many years, and I know whereof I speak. You will have your downs as well as ups, since you are a young man, and cannot always gauge the amount of strength needed, or know the exact nature of the forces which must be brought to bear. You will probably be beaten sometimes, and busted often; but under every circumstance, never despair. You were put here to make a living, and if you don’t succeed it is your own fault. I have given you an insight into different branches of fakirdom; cultivate the rest after the same fashion. They are all alike, and founded on the same general principles. These monitions heed:
“Never carry an old sample case. It looks bad and hurts your business.
“Put your whole heart and soul into business, and ‘stick to your knitting.’
“A good argument for one thing answers as well for another. Don’t forget it.
“Get to the level of your customer, but remain a gentleman.
“Flatter the young woman of the house. If you have her, you’ve got the mother; and nine times out of ten the gray mare is the better horse.
“It is much easier to bamboozle a woman than a man, but the profits are apt to be less. Too much time is wasted, and time is money.
“Don’t make a second call, unless you have time to burn. Stay with a man as long as there is hope, and then leave him for some one else to warm over. If he wants you he’ll send for you; if he don’t, he’s thought of a dozen arguments against you he didn’t advance before.
“One gift to the wife or daughter of a landlord is worth more to secure attention than tips to a dozen waiters.
“There is nothing will do you more good than church going. If it don’t happen to save your soul it will surely help your pockets.
“Hold your own. If you take a little of some people’s mouths they will think you a fool, and give you a great deal more.