Yankee Doodle came to town,
Riding on a pony,
Stuck a feather in his cap,
And called him "Mac A'Rony."
--_Old Ballad._
A county poor-house on the road to Elkhart attracted my notice
when I was about to pass it by. My outfit was recognized by a man
raking the front lawn, and he urged me to visit the institution;
so, thinking I might devote a quarter-hour to the cause of
self-education, I tied Mac in the yard, and was shown through the
dirtiest and most uninteresting building I ever inspected.
Old, lazy-looking men, with empty heads in full hands, lounged
about on benches, and several others in the hospital ward seemed
to be trying harder to die than to live. One wrinkled but
round-faced wench, with a soiled bandage round her ears and forehead,
was smoking a well-seasoned pipe in the kitchen while stirring
mush. I was glad to see the house prison empty. Five minutes
indoors sufficed me; and, bidding my escort a hasty adieu, I
piloted Mac on to Elkhart.
Arriving in the city, I at once procured a license to sell
pictures on the curb, a precaution I had been timely advised to
take, and one that was rarely necessary on that trip. Then, before
going to eat and to rest my tired bones, I led the donkey to a
prominent corner in the business center and began to sell. I had
disposed of two photos only, when a policeman with unusual
pomposity ordered me away, but I continued to make sales and, as
he was about to take me in custody, shook my license in his face,
causing much merriment to the crowd.
Soon the cheering attracted the Mayor to the scene, and he, to my
surprise, not only bought a chromo, but paid me for the privilege
of riding Mac A'Rony. The jack reluctantly consenting, his Honor
got into the saddle and rode down the half-choked thoroughfare a
block and back amid thunderous applause.
The profits from my sales did not meet my expenses, including the
cost of license, so I hurried on to Mishawaka, where, after supper
I delivered a street lecture, passed my hat and collected 24
cents. I would yet be stranded in Indiana, at that rate. Mac
advised me to leave town at once, and we made for South Bend at
dark, reaching that city by ten o'clock. And there with only $6.50
in pocket, I put up at a small hotel and tossed in bed half the
night, wondering how I should save myself.
"The darkest hour is just before dawn," and it was about that time
when I recollected having received, a few days before my
pilgrimage began, a letter from a Mr. Adams, of Chicago, extending
me an invitation to be his guest, should I pass through that city.
It was one of many letters received at the time, which I had not
answered. I now regretted my negligence, but nevertheless, next
morning, with due apologies I wired him to expect me on a certain
train, and planned for a week's absence.
The lenient hotel proprietor agreed to take care of my animals as
security for my hotel and stable bill; then I purchased a return
ticket for emergency, and boarded the train for the Windy City,
trusting to a dollar and a half, to my wits, and to "luck" to
carry me through.
As I stepped off the train in Chicago, a stranger grasped my hand
and gave me a most cordial greeting.
"Laying for me, eh?--first man I meet a confidence man," I
muttered inwardly. But he was extremely courteous, and offered to
carry my saddle-bags.
"No, sir," I said, politely. "I've carried them twelve hundred
miles, and can carry them three thousand more."
"Pod is your name, all right;" the stranger continued, half in
inquiry, half in surprise, I thought, as we walked out of the
railroad station.
"You bet it is," I said, emphatically. "Just because you've plenty
of wind out here you needn't think it can blow away my name."
"Well," said he, cheerfully, "Our wind is said to be the best
brewed in all this country. It may not be strong enough to blow
away pods, but I'll wager it can blow the pease out of 'em so far
you never can find them." The man's facetiousness interested me;
it bespoke his nerve.
"Tell me, Mister," I said, after walking several blocks, "where
are you taking me, anyhow?"
"Oh, just three blocks more, then we take a cable," said my
escort, as he made another futile grab for my countryfied luggage.
When on the car, this confidence man had the confidence to
introduce me to a pal, as the New York gentleman and scholar,
Professor Pye Pod, who was surveying a trans-continental turnpike
from the observation platform of a jackass.
"I want to know!" exclaimed bunco man number two; and suddenly, a
new light affecting to dawn on his brain, he added, as if to
disarm my suspicions, "I see. I see. I have it now. You are the
journalist I've read about,--said to be well fixed--first visit to
Chicago?"
"Not much," I returned. "Been here dozens of times. Can't say I'm
well fixed, though, with only a dollar and a half to my name."
At this stage of the dialogue, I saw a police station. "Come with
me," I said, "I want to procure a license. Then we'll have a
'smile.'"
And, to my utter surprise and gratification, both men stepped off
the car and followed me like faithful dogs into the police
station.
"Where's the Chief of Police?" I inquired of a man in uniform, who
stepped toward me.
"Right here before you," was the answer.
"Well, arrest these bunco-steerers," I said, dropping my
odd-looking luggage and laying a hand on each man's shoulder. I never
saw greater astonishment and embarrassment than was expressed by
these two confidence men at being so easily trapped by their
"Uncle Rube."
"This man met me at the train when my depot came in," I continued,
excitedly, in _lapsus linguæ_. "He knew my name, business, and
previous condition of fortune, and put me on a car where he
introduced this pal of his, and if I hadn't been forwarned against
such fellows by my Uncle Hiram, and caught on to the game, I would
have been robbed by this time and chucked into the sewer."
This was enough for the Chief. He seized each man by the collar.
Instantly the first man found his tongue and tried to explain
matters, and finally did so, to the satisfaction of all concerned.
But what a surprise party for Pye Pod!
"Well! well!! well!!!" I exclaimed, my heart thumping like a
pile-driver, as I realized my embarrassing predicament. "Who would
have thought it? Mr. Adams, of course! My dear sir, how stupid of
me! I have wronged you and your friend unmercifully. When I
telegraphed you (the Chief here loosened his hold on the men) I
never thought you would attempt to meet me at the train, let alone
have time to. Your address of 131609 Wellington avenue, I supposed
must be near to the State line; Chicago has grown so. Couldn't
conceive how you could reach the depot before to-morrow."
Of course, it was "up to me" to treat. So I left my saddle-bags,
and going to a cigar store, purchased a dime's worth of cheroots,
and did myself nobly by the chief and the confidence men, whose
faces were bloated and red on my return. Then my forgiving host
took me to his distant home, where, after dinner, we enjoyed a
smoke--of his own cigars--and a hearty laugh over my exceptional
initiation to Chicago life.
While smoking and chatting, my host happened to mention a big mass
meeting to be held that evening at Lincoln Turner Hall. The doors
were to be opened at eight o'clock. It was now seven-thirty. At
once I explained my financial stress, and told him that the object
of my advance trip by train was to try to make enough money to
continue my donkey journey. Adams suggested that, that being the
case, we should attend the meeting, by all means; so we hurried
off.
Arriving at the hall, my host introduced me to an officer of the
league, who escorted us both to seats on the platform with a
number of vice-presidents and their wives and mothers-in-law.
After several orators had spoken, among them being Carter
Harrison, soon to be elected Mayor of Chicago, the chairman
reminded the audience of Pythagoras Pod and his celebrated donkey,
Mac A'Rony, of whom they had read, saying that the meeting was
honored with the Professor's presence; then he introduced me,
after having said I needed no introduction.
It was five minutes before I could hear myself speak, and, not
being there for that purpose, I didn't say much. But my speech
seemed to tickle the audience, and when I had concluded, the
chairman suggested that my histrionic plug hat be passed around
the hall, on the inside, so it was; and, do you believe, it was
returned to me with more wealth than I had possessed before, at
any one time on my pilgrimage.
The two days following were busy ones. I contracted for the
manufacture of a quantity of buttons, containing the picture of
Pye Pod on his donkey, and arranged for the meeting with the
manager of a large patent medicine concern on my return to the
city with Mac A'Rony. Then, after a day's rest, I returned Sunday
evening to South Bend, Ind., to find my donkey and dog well and
delighted to see me, but myself suffering, for the first, with
malaria.
I had a severe chill on reaching the hotel, and all night long I
rolled and tossed with a fever. This was doubtless the result of
my evening travels through the swamps and lowlands of the Hoosier
State. At midnight, I sent a bell-boy for quinine, and by feeding
on the medicine liberally, for several hours, I broke up the fever
by morning; but still my bones ached. I had no appetite and was in
no form to travel. At noon I forced down a little soup, paid my
bills, and set out for New Carlisle, walking the whole distance,
fourteen miles, by sunset. Mac was so slow that his shadow beat
him to town. My muscles and joints still ached, and I passed
another sleepless night. Next day I pushed on to La Porte,
fourteen miles further, and went to bed feeling a wreck. But as
the chills and fever failed to return, I enjoyed sleep.
My Chicago trip was a boon to me. I gave no thought to
money-making for the present. Wednesday morning, feeling in better
spirits, I started for Valparaiso, and covered the twenty-two
miles on foot by dark, and relished a hearty supper. Thus far the
week had been cold and damp and cloudy. The roads, where they were
not muddy, were very sandy, and Mac and I made slow headway.
The following night was spent in Hobart, where I was entertained
at an amusing, though distressing cock-fight, and all day Friday I
tramped or waded in sand six inches deep to the next town,
Hammond, where I passed a restless night, in spite of my now
restored health. In the morning I learned that the state line runs
not only through the town, but also, the very house and bedroom I
occupied. My bed was directly on the line, and somehow, any
position I got in brought that line across some part of my body.
Dull monotony and bad weather distinguished the next day's
journey; a rainstorm met us half way to Chicago, and wet us all
the way. But on Palm Sunday, we progressed under more genial
skies. I observed many pacific, law-abiding people with
prayer-books, bottles and shot-guns, either on their way to
church, to a fishing-stream, or to the woods; and we came upon a
tandem bicycle party, the machine broken down, the young man and
woman apparently broken up. She sat on a stone against a telegraph
pole with chin in her hands, watching the gallant fellow, who was
at her feet, on his knee caps with a monkey wrench in his hands,
trying to repair damages.
From South Chicago we passed into Stony Island Boulevard and the
Midway Plaisance of the World's Fair of '93. The remaining Art
building arched its brows at my curious outfit, and an endless
chain of bicycles and carriages conveyed past us an inquisitive
and gaping multitude, many of whom altered their plans to follow
us into the city proper. It was six o'clock when we reached
Thirty-fourth street and I found a suitable stable for my animals.
Then affectionately patting Don's head and rubbing Mac's nose, I
left them and sauntered up the avenue, heaving a sigh of infinite
relief over my hard-earned triumph.
As I trended the streets of that wide-awake metropolis toward its
business center, I was stopped many times by truant messenger boys
and idle street gamins, who seemed surprisingly solicitous about
the physical condition of my hat.
"Mister, this way to a hat store." "If you want to buy a new hat,
I'll take you to a hatter." "This way, Mister, I know a place to
get a hat cheap." "Say, Mister, I kin get yer a hat fer nothin'."
Why should I wish a new hat? I asked myself indignantly. True,
mine had seen better days, but it was worth more to me now than a
hundred new hats. "Yes, yes, you dear old weather-beaten tile," I
apostrophized as I strode on with a deaf ear to my inquisitors,
"you are of royal stuff, for you have triumphed over many wars and
dissensions and still wear a crown! The plebeian hats who
calumniate you, although fresh from a band-box, are common
compared with you; they are jealous of your exploits and envy you
your faithful friend."
"Vividly do I recall our desperate encounters with the mad bull,
the hailstorms and other warring elements; and that winter's
night when you forgot your personal safety and made a noble
self-sacrifice by receiving the assailant's bullet intended for me;
and, again, the day the awkward jackass tried to yank me off the
plank foot-bridge underneath him in his fall, when you threw your
own lean frame down on to the bank in place of me and received the
weight which would have mashed me to death, but which only
squeezed the wind out of you. Why do all the idle clerks gaze at
you so longingly from the shop-windows? Because they covet you as
a drawing card to disdaining shoppers. I am proud of you. Rest in
peace."
I spent the night with friend Adams, on his invitation. Monday
morning I kept my appointment with the patent medicine man. He
received me cordially, evidently aware of the boon I might be to
his business should I enter his employ, and in order that he might
better discuss my proposition and its possibilities, he invited me
some miles into the country for a couple of days' outing at a
mineral spring resort.
A stylish coach and four met us at the train, and wheeled us over
a pretty rolling country, in the glow of the setting sun, to the
cozy hotel-sanitarium, which was brilliantly illuminated and whose
doors were open to welcome us.
And in less than twenty minutes, Pod made of his Apollo form a
companion piece to "Diana Bathing."
The water then sold at fifty cents a gallon and there were two
hundred gallons in my tub. Think of it! I had read about beautiful
actresses and heiresses taking milk baths and champagne baths and
Rochelle salts baths, but that $100 bath of mine in pure lithia
water would have put all those pretty bathing women to the blush.
But when, in my enthusiasm, I so told my generous host, he spoiled
all my beautiful delusions at once by saying quite mechanically,
"Oh, two hundred gallons for a bath is nothing unusual; it's only
the overflow."
Next morning he asked me if I would like a magno-mud bath. "Sir?"
I interrogated, gravely. "If you had dragged and pushed and
carried a stubborn, cantankerous donkey through four hundred miles
of red and yellow Ohio mud, and two hundred miles of blue and
black Indiana mud, not to mention some six hundred miles of New
York and Pennsylvania mud of various hues and conditions, the
overflows of December, January and February; if you had bathed in
mud, waded in mud, soaked in mud and cursed in mud for nearly
five months, and I were to put such a delicate question to you,
your sensibilities would be shocked, your nerves paralyzed, your
reason ossified."
My host apologized and withdrew the invitation; then with great
wisdom and forethought, he introduced me to the physician, Dr.
Tanner, the highest authority on fasting, and renowned for his
having fasted forty days. I considered this the luckiest meeting
of my whole journey. He took quite a fancy to me and gave me
valuable instructions and prescriptions for fasting any period
from one to forty days; but I was disappointed not to be
enlightened on how to go several days without water.
That morning my host made me a liberal proposition to advertise
his medicines, he guaranteeing to pay me a regular weekly stipend
during the remainder of my pilgrimage to the Golden Gate, and,
free of all charges, to provide me with all the photographs of my
asinine outfit that I could sell en route. I signed the contract.
Then we returned to Chicago.