expedition, when one of the privates, in nosing around the out-houses of
a farm, ran across a barrel of prime cider. Now, as the private
expressed it, a barrel of prime cider was not to be sneezed at, and with
the help of an aged darky he carried it after nightfall into the camp.
The next day he went to work rigging up a little counter, and before
noon was ready to dispense the refreshing beverage at the small sum of
ten cents a cup, according to the rudely scrawled sign outside the tent
flap.
Now liquid refreshment was scarce, and with a luxury like cider to
soothe the palate it was but a short while before the front of that tent
resembled the entrance to a circus. Business was brisk, exceedingly
brisk, and the private's arms ached in passing out the cups of cider.
His little till was rapidly filling up with coin, when there was a
perceptible dwindling in his customers.
The change was alarming, and he looked around for the cause. A loud
noise in the rear of his tent attracted his attention, and warily
closing up his shop, he walked around. A large crowd had gathered, and
after a great deal of struggling he managed to see that another barrel
of cider had reached the camp, for in the midst of the crowd he could
hear a man shouting, "Here ye are--cider five cents a glass!"
He hastened around to his tent and changed the sign from ten cents to
three cents a glass. In a short time the crowd discovered the change,
and his business boomed. Then his competitor could be heard shouting,
"Here ye are--cider for nothing!"
That settled it: he closed up his tent flap, and went around to see what
sort of a man gave cider away. This time he was able to get near, and
found, to his astonishment, that his competitor had driven a spigot into
the other end of his own barrel, which he had placed so carefully in the
rear of the tent.
* * * * *
According to the New York _Press_, when John C. Reid was managing editor
of the _Times_ he had an office-boy whose nerve and cheek were colossal.
Greatness never embarrassed him, for he was no respecter of persons. One
day he entertained in the reception-room a waiting visitor, whose
patronizing way nettled him. All kinds of questions concerning his life
and occupation were fired at him, and finally he was asked how much he
earned a week. His reply was, "Fifty dollars," which caused the
interrogator to whistle. At that moment the visitor was summoned by
Reid, to whom he related his experience with an office-boy who said he
made fifty dollars a week.
Reid rang bell; enter boy.
"Did you tell this gentleman that you made fifty dollars a week here?"
"I did not tell him any such thing."
"What! You mean to say you didn't tell me a moment or two ago that you
made fifty dollars a week?"
"Never said any such thing."
"Why, you little liar! You--"
"What did you tell the gentleman?" put in Reid.
"I told him I earned fifty dollars a week; but you pay me only three
dollars."
The visitor was so excited that he forgot his business with the managing
editor. When he had taken leave of the office Reid raised the boy's
salary to six dollars.
* * * * *
The late Jay Gould used to tell a good story of Mr. William M. Travers.
As Mr. Gould related it, he described Mr. Travers's going downtown to a
dog-fancier's place in Water Street, New York, in search of a
rat-terrier. The dog-fancier scented the value of his possible customer
at once, and cheerfully dilated upon the merits of the different canines
in stock. Finally, he selected a ratter, assuring Mr. Travers that the
dog would go for a rat quicker than lightning. Mr. Travers was rather
sceptical as he observed the shivering pup, and the dog-fancier noticing
this, said,
"Here, I'll show you how he'll go for a rat," and he put the dog in a
box with a big rat. The rat made a dive and laid out that unfortunate
terrier in a second. Mr. Travers turned around to the fancier and said,
"I say, Johnny, what will you take for the rat?"
* * * * *
An Oakland, California, bootblack deserves special mention as an honest
man who would not deceive his patrons. When he first went into business,
six years ago, he put up a sign which read:
"Joe Garibaldi, bootblack. Has two small children."
Each succeeding year found him deserving of more sympathy, for he kept
amending the sign, until it read eight small children. A few days ago
Joe's bootblack stand was locked for a whole day, and when he returned
the next morning, he confided to the butcher's boy that his baby had
died. His first work was to amend the sign so that it might not mislead
the public, and it then read: "Joe Garibaldi, bootblack. Has seven small
children." Then, to avoid being placed in a false position before the
public, he added with his finger and shoe-blacking, "One he die."
* * * * *
Senator Voorhees relates a story of emotional eloquence which came to an
ignominious end, as _Current Literature_ tells it. He had succeeded in
delivering an appeal which had brought tears to the eyes of several
jurymen. Then arose the prosecuting attorney, a gruff old man with a
piping voice and nasal twang.
"Gentlemen," said he, deliberately helping himself to a pinch of snuff,
"you might as well understand from the beginning that I am not boring
for water."
This proved so effectual a wet blanket to the emotions excited by Mr.
Voorhees that he realized the futility of his own "boring."
* * * * *
[Illustration]
"Oh, your song is most annoying,
And unless you take it back,"
Said the Doctor, "I will fire."
But the Duck still shouted: "Quack!
"Of your powder and your shot, sir,
I am not the least afraid:
So long as pills and potions
You don't summon to your aid."
End of Project Gutenberg's Harper's Round Table, March 23, 1897, by Various