The generation now passing has known no man of keener wit than the
late William R. Travers, of New York. An impediment of speech not
infrequently gave zest and vim to his words, when they finally
found utterance. He was for a lifetime steeped in affairs of great
concern and among his associates were prominent factors in the
commercial and political world.
On his revisiting Baltimore some years after his removal to New
York, an old acquaintance remarked, "You seem to stutter more in
New York than you did here, Mr. Travers." To this the brief reply
at length came, "Have to--_it's a bigger place."_
Back in the days when Gould and Fisk were names to conjure with in
the mart and on the board; when railroads and gold mines were
but pawns upon the chessboard of "money changers and those who sold
doves"; when "Black Friday" was still fresh in the memories of
thousands, this incident is said to have occurred.
To weightier belongings, Gould and Fisk had added by way of pastime
a splendid steamer to ply between Fall River and New York. Upon
its trial voyage, Travers was the guest of its owners. The
appointments of the vessel were gorgeous in the extreme, and in
the large saloon were suspended life-size portraits of Gould and
of Fisk. After a promenade of an hour in company with the originals,
Travers suddenly paused in front of the portraits, gazed earnestly
at each in turn, and then--with eyes fixed on the intervening space
--slowly ejaculated: _"Where's Christ?"_