MARRIED AND SETTLED DOWN—RETIRED AND HAPPY—A DIP IN THE LAKE—THE WORLD
IS ROUND AND WIDE—FAREWELL.
In this narrative I have given a clear, comprehensive view of a fakir’s
life, as I saw it in my own experience. I have made it no better and no
worse, but just as I found it. In the years that I followed the calling
I had many ups and downs, yet, on the whole, was constantly advancing.
Before I had been at it long I accepted temporary difficulties as a
matter of course—unpleasant while they lasted, but certain not to be of
great duration. Before long I grew to have the most utter and complete
confidence in myself, and faced the problem of the hour without a doubt
of success. If I ultimately quit the road it was because, though still a
young man, I could retire “with all my honors thick upon me.” In other
words, I was fixed for life, if I chose to spend my days in idleness.
That I subsequently added to my wealth by other means was nothing
against my success as a fakir. Indeed, I am rather inclined to believe
that the boom at Harwood was the greatest fake of all.
After that, as I have already explained, I kept my eyes open for good
things, and when they came along I caught them.
One day when time was plenty on my hands I got to thinking:
“How old are you, old boy?” I asked myself.
“Thirty-eight,” came the answer.
“Thirty-eight. Is it possible?”
Yes, there was no denying it. Time had slipped along and I scarcely
noticed it going.
“Well, then,” I said, “it seems high time you had a home of your own.
There is something more than life at the hotels and boarding houses, in
spite of its freedom. You ought to marry and settle down. You have a
good income and could support a wife not only comfortably, but in
luxury.”
Perhaps I was jesting with myself while talking in this strain; but very
soon I got in sober earnest, and began to believe I had made up my mind
to become a benedict.
I ran over a list of my lady friends. I knew a vast number of them
casually, but was surprised to find with how few I had taken time to
become more than incidentally acquainted. The list was not long, and I
did not remember a single one that I would care to make my partner for
life.
Should it be Sally Jones, Martha White or Jane Smith? Gertie Thompson,
Maggie Brown, Annie Dawson, Kate Jackson or Lizzie Moore? They all had
their good qualities, or I would not have been apt to give them more
than passing notice; but they had their defects, and having noticed them
I argued that I had less interest in them than a man should have in a
lady he expects to make his wife. I considered further.
Are the objections serious enough to stand in the way? Let me see.
“Sally Jones has red hair, and probably a bad temper must be under it.
Martha White has a host of relations, and I might be expected to marry
all of them; otherwise, she might do. Jane Smith is afflicted in the
same manner. Gertie Thompson is mild-eyed and even-tempered, but hasn’t
enough spunk to take her own part—she’s too good for me. Maggie Brown
has a tyrant of a mother, whom I could not endure for a mother-in-law,
and four young lady sisters who take after the maternal pattern. Annie
Dawson and Kate Jackson are beauties, but are too full of frivolity and
coquettishness, while Lizzie Cleopatra Moore (that is her full name) is
broad-shouldered and masculine in build, and has pronounced views on the
equal rights question.
“No. None of these ladies have the qualities I wish my wife to possess.
“But who else do I know?
“By jove, I have it.
“Miss Mattie Higbie, of course; the girl I made the subject of my first
and only practice as a corn doctor. I owe that girl something for what I
made her suffer, and if she lives, and is single, and seems to fill the
bill, I’ll make honorable amends by offering myself in payment of the
debt.”
How I came to think of her is a question. After all these years my
remembrance of her was but hazy; yet in the intervening time I had more
than once thought of her, and the promise I had made myself that I would
some day see her again. I had never chanced to be in her neighborhood,
however, and her life since I saw her was a sealed mystery.
Would she remember me? Would she cherish an abiding hatred for the
clumsy corn doctor who had once given her so much pain? No, that was
hardly probable. I must have changed too much in the intervening time.
When she saw me I wore no whiskers, and, in fact, was little more than a
beardless boy, fairly disguised to act the part of a man. Now, a heavy
brown mustache shaded my upper lip and side whiskers altered the
expression of my face.
“Don’t wait,” has always been my motto, and was the one I used on this
occasion. The preparations I had to make were few and simple, though I
might be starting for a visit that would extend over months.
I did not disguise the fact, however, that this might be the greatest
wild-goose chase of my life. Why should I imagine that Miss Mattie
Higbie had remained single through all these years, or that I would care
to claim her if she had? That she had changed greatly was to be
expected, and it might be I was preparing myself for a greater shock
than I was aware of. Well, time should show. I might as well be doing
this as anything else, and it cost no more. I traveled in a Pullman
through lands I had once viewed from brake-beams of a box-car, or the
platform of the blind baggage, and possibly the same negro porter
touched his hat and whisked off my clothes who had once shied a brick at
my head.
Yet in the place itself there was not so much change, but when I
debarked from the train it seemed I had been there but yesterday. The
same buildings, neither more nor less dingy, the same crowds thronging
up and down the streets, or lounging idly on the same corners. So it
looked, and when I sought out the hotel where I had once stopped there
seemed to be no change either. I was half afraid to go in for fear the
landlord would recognize me and whisper the lynchers would be on hand
that night.
I might have saved myself all trouble on that score. The house had
changed hands, had been refitted on the inside and was quite an
up-to-date hotel. I registered and found myself at once very much at
home. The next thing was to find out something about Miss Mattie, and
here I was, for the moment, at a loss. I did not care to mention her
name until I had a clearer idea of what would be my course of procedure,
and concluded, for a time at least, to trust to chance and my own
resources. As a preliminary, I took a stroll out to the Higbie cottage.
The house was there, but, alas, it knew the Higbies no more. Some other
name was on the door, and for the moment I half fancied that all trace
of my affinity was lost. I paced back towards the hotel, a sadder and a
somewhat uncomfortably wiser man.
But was there ever an hour when luck was not with me? As I sauntered
through the business portion of the city my eyes fell upon the sign:
“John J. Higbie, Real Estate and Insurance. General Solicitor for the
Stromboli.”
I had never heard of John J. Higbie before, but you may be sure the name
sounded familiar. I turned into the stairway and mounted the steps as
though this had been my goal from the first.
I found Mr. Higbie in his nicely furnished office. He was a well
preserved veteran of the civil war, straight as a dart, keen as a sword,
and, withal, as fine a specimen of the southern gentleman as I wanted to
deal with. He also bore unmistakable evidences of prosperity.
Without hesitating I opened my business. I had a few thousands loose and
was looking for a safe little investment, which would give me business
interests in that vicinity. If things pleased me I might have more to
invest when I had explored the ground. We talked business for an hour,
and in that time I hardly thought of Mattie once.
As I rose to go I remarked that his name, though not a common one,
sounded very familiar, and asked if there were any more families by the
same name living in the vicinity?
No; he and his daughter Mattie were the only representatives there of
the family.
With that I knew I was on the right track, and took my leave. All things
can come to the man who waits, and I was willing to enjoy my suspense
for a little longer. I went away with a strong feeling of satisfaction.
It is true I had put myself in line for making a deal of some thousands
of dollars which I had never thought of two hours previously, but what
of that? The investment looked on the face of it as though it might be a
good one; and, anyhow, if I could find Mattie it would be cheap at two
thousand dollars—profit or loss. I was already just that far gone.
To make a long story short, I was on the right track. When I mentioned
to other people that I was transacting some business through Major
Higbie it was not out of place to follow with a casual question about
his family. In that way I learned that Miss Mattie was a very popular
lady, who presided over her father’s house and table with dignity and
grace. If she had never married it was not for want of opportunities,
but because probably the right man had not yet come.
“Thank heaven,” said I to myself, “The right man is here now, but he was
a long time coming. The next thing is to arrange a meeting.”
Major Higbie did that, I had not yet closed the original trade proposed,
but in his mind I was surely destined to do it, and was now talking of
other deals. The major invited me to his house to take supper and talk
matters over. That was the way I met Mattie the second time.
Jove! How handsome she looked. There were the same big blue eyes and the
same tawny hair piled high on her head, but she had matured into a
beautiful and glorious womanhood, which I could only wonder at and
worship. Thinking it over a little later on in the evening, I could not
help but wonder that neither father nor daughter had apparently noticed
my confusion, and I breathed a prayer of thanksgiving that I had not, as
I was on the eve of doing, blurted out, “I am a corn doctor, selling
corns, bunions and ingrown nails.” I had rallied after that first bit of
confusion, however, and we three passed a very pleasant evening. I was
rich enough to feel satisfied; had traveled all the country over, and
selling encyclopedias had been a liberal education of itself. When I
went away I knew I had made a favorable impression and was proud of it.
The rest was a foregone conclusion.
Of course, I never closed the land deal with the major, but I led him to
think he would eventually catch me.
The days drifted along into weeks, and the weeks into months. I lived at
my hotel, but had the run of the Major’s house. Mattie and I became
almost inseparable, and I think I had a pretty good idea of what the
answer would be when I laid my heart and fortune formally at her feet.
Five weeks later we left for the north on our wedding tour, and the
first place we made any lengthened stay was at the old homestead, where
I had passed the first years of my life. The old folks were still alive
and welcomed us with open arms.
Prosperity had been with them as well; but, alas, they showed too well
the ravages of time and the marks left by labor. They were aged even
beyond their years, while for Mattie and I time had seemed to stand
still.
We went to “meeting,” now held in a beautiful little church, instead of
the old school house. The boys I had played with in my youth were there,
grown into men, many of them old before their time. When I looked around
I could see in every bent back, knotted hand and furrowed brow what I
might have grown into, and shuddered. Father probably understood my
thoughts, for on the way home, when I told him what money I had made, he
said, “I am not sure, Jim, but perhaps you are right. At least I can see
what you might have done had you stayed on the farm. And, Jim, your wife
is charming.”
One day while in Chicago I said to my wife:
“Mattie, do you remember the circumstance of a man calling on you a
number of years ago who said he was a corn doctor and the awful mess he
made in treating your foot?”
“Do I remember him?” and her wrath seemed to rise at the thought. “I
should say I do, and I would like to treat him—with—a dip in the lake.”
“Then, throw your husband in,” I said, looking her straight in the face;
“I am that corn doctor.”
She was so surprised at my answer that she could not say a word, but sat
staring at me with wide open eyes. There we sat for some moments,
looking into each other’s faces, until both broke into a long and hearty
laugh.
All this occurred some years ago, and I don’t think my wife has
altogether overcome the desire to give me a dip in the lake. At any
rate, if I ever happen to displease her she says she thinks the time is
surely coming to carry out her threat.
I am now a happy and prosperous man. My family enjoys all of the
comforts and many of the luxuries of life, and the sound of the wolf
growling at the door is only a distant echo, reminding me that once at
times I was destitute, and that I should not forget those who are
unfortunate now.
What more could a reasonable being ask for? No more, I am sure.
As I said in my introductory remarks, this book is written with a view
of showing the inner workings of a successful fakir, as well as to amuse
those people generous enough to peruse its pages. I hope it has kept
within its range.
The world is round and wide, and on its surface is found all kinds of
people. Some take to this and some to that occupation. All have not the
same inclination, and therefore we should be generous in our thoughts
towards those who do differently from us.
In his way a blacksmith is as good as a doctor, a hod carrier as good as
a merchant, a clerk as good as his employer, a cobbler as good as a
lawyer, and a fakir as good as a statesman. The president of the United
States is no better than the poorest man who helped to elect him.
We have all equal chances to lose or make, as we ourselves show our
capabilities. If we were all started from one point, on a road leading
to some goal, we know by observation that some would falter and fall by
the wayside, while others would go straight on to their destination. We
see all this daily.
But some of those who fall are persevering and rise to their feet,
saying, “I will win; others have done it.” Making a great effort, they
start on their journey again, sometimes overtaking those who have been
in the lead. These are the kind of men who make a success of their
business, the men who take for their motto, “Never say fail.”
THE END.
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● Transcriber’s Notes:
○ Missing or obscured punctuation was silently corrected.
○ Typographical errors were silently corrected.
○ Inconsistent spelling and hyphenation were made consistent only
when a predominant form was found in this book.