“I’M A GOING!”
_For the Table Book._
Barbers are not more celebrated by a desire to become the most busy
citizens of the state, than by the expert habit in which they convey
news. Many a tale is invented out of a mere surmise, or whisper, for the
gratification of those who attend barbers’ shops. An old son of the
scissors and razor, well known at Portsmouth, was not, however, quite so
perfect a _phiz_iologist, as his more erudite and bristling fraternity.
One evening, as he was preparing his fronts, and fitting his comb “to a
hair,” two supposed gentlemen entered his shop to be dressed; this being
executed with much civility and despatch, a wager was laid with old
Dudley, (for that was his name,) that he could not walk in a ring three
feet in diameter, for one hour, and utter no other words than “I’m a
going!” Two pounds on each side was on the counter; the ring was drawn
in chalk; the money chinked in the ear, and old Dudley moved in the
circle of his orbit. “I’m a going!--I’m a going!--I’m a going!” were the
only words which kept time with his feet during the space of fifty-five
minutes, when, on a sudden, one of the gentlemen sprang forward, and
taking up the money, put it into his pocket. This device threw old
Dudley off his guard, and he exclaimed, “That’s not fair!”--“Enough!”
rejoined the sharpers, “you’ve lost the wager.” They departed, leaving
him two pounds minus, and to this day old Dudley is saluted by the
appellation of “I’m a going!”