The following fall at the University was a trying one for it was darned hard to get back to the studies after such a bully good time tramping over Europe. There wasn't much midnight oil wasted, for I was too full of football. Ten good men were trying for my place on the team, and consequently it took all of my time to hold down left-half on the 'varsity eleven.

Well, I won, and we had some dandy times on the trips that season. Warner, Cornell's old coach, trained us that fall and he had a fine lot of material to pick from. After we had played the Thanksgiving game, with the University of Virginia, I returned home, and remaining there only a few days, departed for Washington, D. C., where I secured a position with the Washington Times.

While at the Naval Academy on a football trip, the year before, I met a young chap by the name of Anderson. He came to Washington in January shortly after being expelled from the Academy for hazing and proposed to me that we two hit it for the West together. This idea struck me in the right place and at the right time, for I had been contemplating another chase over some part of the world. He was from the Naval Academy and I from the University of North Carolina, but then and there we joined forces to matriculate in that larger, but less select college—the University of Experience. I, of course, had had more training in that school than Anderson, but I knew that he'd be game to the last. Of all my experiences, I dare say that not the least adventurous I ever butted into was when in company with Will Anderson, I boarded the train at Washington and began our journey toward the setting sun.

We purchased tickets to St. Louis by way of Chicago at a cut rate price, and landed in the Windy City on a Monday morning. A gloomy looking day it was, too, our joint possessions amounting to thirty cents. After receiving a rebate on our railroad tickets, which amounted to two dollars and fifty cents, we entered a certain restaurant where the waiters neither wear dress suits, nor expect exorbitant perquisites. Each having replenished the inner man with Clarke street dainties, we began our search for something to do, but finding congenial employment proved a much harder task than when we used to tell how to do it back in Washington. We commenced by hitting for such positions as newspaper reporters, office assistants, and the like; we ended by accepting positions?—no, just ordinary jobs, I as a laborer in a lead mill just off Halstead street, while Will answered to "Front," doing the bell hopping act at a north side family hotel. For my work I received one dollar and seventy-five cents a day, and, truly, it was the darnest hardest money I ever earned in all my life. It simply meant lifting big lead bars weighing anywhere from one hundred to two hundred pounds all the day long, that is, from six o'clock in the morning till five in the afternoon with half an hour at noon for lunch. My room and board cost me five dollars a week so at the end of the first six days I had a few dollars in my pocket.

I boarded at a restaurant on Halstead street, and the proprietor of this notorious establishment was formerly a cab driver in Paris. Evenings, after I had finished my work, we two would have long talks about the city of pleasures, for both of us knew the place pretty well, he having lived there the greater part of his life, and I having been there several times. Gee! but this was a tough joint. During my stay there I was afraid of being killed for there were murders taking place around there very frequently, as the scareheads of that date will testify. I could hardly have expected anything better on Halstead street, for those who are acquainted with that particular section of Chicago will tell you that there's scarcely a place on the toughest part of the Bowery that can compare with certain sections of that famous Chicago street.

Anderson acted his part of an old experienced bell hop at the Virginia Hotel on the north side of the city. For this he received seven dollars per week and meals. At night he came to my room on Halstead street and we bunked together. He was usually on duty at night till about ten o'clock, and after finishing his work it would take him about one hour to ride over the city to where we were rooming. It mattered not how tired I was, I would always sit up and await his coming, for it was awfully lonely there by myself. Not wishing to make these exalted positions a life business, in a couple of weeks we "resigned our commissions," donned our happy habiliments and wended our way to a certain mail order establishment, and after much wagging of tongues, finally found ourselves correspondents at $15.00 per. But we didn't care to confine ourselves to stereotyped forms, and much preferred to let our pens wander, and to be original, so, not knowing when we were well off, quit that.

Then we thought we would like the peaceful, care-free life of the farm, so hired to a Mr. Heren of Crystal Lake, Ill., as experienced farm hands. This Mr. Heren had offices in the Monadnock Building, and we were sent to him by the manager of the Employment Agency. When this particular individual, who wanted a couple of good farm hands out on his place, learned that I was handy with tools and that Anderson could milk a cow to a finish, he was more than pleased. He furnished us tickets to Crystal Lake which was forty miles from Chicago, and there we landed the next day.

As we alighted from the train at that future metropolis, Will chewing a straw in typical reuben fashion, and I furbishing my talk with many "by goshes" and "gol derns," I was sure I could discern a superior knowing smile on the face of the foreman in the wagon nearby, when, after the explanations, he told us to "hop in."

Could I plow? Yes, I could plow. Could Anderson milk? Yes, he could milk. Well, I shall never forget the numerous "beefs" he made while posing as an "experienced farm hand." How he strapped the halter on the horse's back and led him out to water; how he wasn't satisfied with having the horses drag only the harrow after them, but had to take several rods of picket fence with him when driving them through the gate; how, when there were only two ways of doing a thing he would invariably do it the wrong way—in fact, while I made a better showing than he, the only thing that either of us did like "experienced farm hands" was to consume large quantities of food at meal times. Well do I remember how we used to sit opposite one another at the table and giggle, and tee-hee like a couple of school girls, and how, after controlling our risibles for a while, we fairly exploded when Heren, Jr., told us we looked like a couple of fellows who had run away from school.

Anderson's efforts at milking! Goodness, but they were fierce! I shall never forget his attempts at the first cow he "milked." He went after that bovine with vengeance, and did his utmost to coax, bribe, threaten or cajole her into giving up her milk, by getting half Nelsons and hammerlocks around the necessary part of her anatomy, but like the rest of her sex, she was stubborn when she wished to be, and absolutely refused. So when Norman, the foreman of the farm, returned to the scene of action, she was complacently chewing her cud, and Anderson, like the hero in the story books, was making a last "almost superhuman effort" to make her come across—and the pail was empty. I guess Norman thought he might be able to get milk from a condensed can, but when it comes to cows, "Nay, nay, Pauline."

About my plowing! Those furrows looked about as straight as a writhing sea-serpent with a bad stomach ache, with no wintergreen handy, and to Norman's practiced eye they must have looked twice that bad. Oh! but I was "handy with tools,"—even if I didn't know a hammer from a pickaxe!

Those long-suffering people stood for all that, but our services were no longer required when Anderson buckled the belly band around the horse's tail, fed him straw and bedded him with hay. Nevertheless at the same time Heren, Jr., treated us royally under the circumstances, and if laughing really makes a man fat, he surely ought to have been a heavyweight by the time we left. And strangely enough when we 'fessed up, he didn't seem astounded in the least. Sometimes I even doubt whether he ever thought we were experienced farmers.

Then that handy man job in "Chi" with me for the man, who couldn't drive a nail without bending it, or hitting his fingers, and, consequently saying things.

A week on the farm was enough, for Norman decided that he couldn't use us to a good advantage, so back to the city we went.

As soon as we arrived in Chicago we struck out for an Employment Agency and were not long in securing a place out on the North side. How we used to make the dust fly out of those Brussels carpets and Oriental rugs, and make the lawn mowers sing over the smooth lawns of that richly inhabited settlement. We worked for a man who had a contract with about twenty people of the settlement to keep their carpets beaten and their lawns mown, and to do odd jobs around the houses.

We rented a room only a few blocks from where our work lay, and three times per diem we did the gastronomic stunt. Oh, what a whole bunch of things we did do, such as flirting over the back fences with the maids in typical "handy man" fashion.

When I think of the time when we painted the interior of the house for one Mr. Farnsworth, our employer, I certainly smile out loud. We painted everything except the paper on the wall, and we would have done that had there been any to paint. And when Mr. Farnsworth, assuming the rÔle of an art critic, said, "That's a very poor job, boys," Anderson replied, "Well, you can't expect a Raphael for twelve dollars a week." This, like our other jobs, did not last long, for two hours afterward Farnsworth learned of the fight I had had with Mrs. Williams' cook, an Irish lady of some two hundred pounds, and he promptly fired us.

When he turned us off we each had about five dollars coming to us so we lit out for our old haunts over on Halstead street, where we knew that board would be cheap at five "per." By this time we were both getting pretty tired of the city proper and wanted to get out on the big ranch lands of the Northwest, where we could work and probably save a little money. I finally hatched up a scheme by which we were able to make enough of the "elusive" to pay our way into the wild and wooly West. It was on a Saturday night that we put into practice this well grounded scheme of mine.

Away back in my knickerbocker days I had had some experience as a patent medicine peddler, so it dawned on me that we would be able to make a few dollars by selling patent medicines. Saturday afternoon I rented from my friend Ikey a long black coat, a tall silk hat, a big imitation diamond, and a few other little necessary articles to give me the appearance of a typical patent medicine doctor. At the Drug Store around the corner from where we lived I purchased a dime's worth of new stoppers, a piece of red sealing wax, a couple of bottles of vanilla, and one small bottle of myrrh. These articles safely stored in my room, I put Anderson to work making the wonderful preparation, while I went out to purchase a basketful of bottles from the second hand bottle dealer. Returning to the room with the bottles, about one hundred in all, I found that Will had the mixtures prepared and then we set ourselves to work filling the bottles. After all the bottles had been filled we placed a new stopper in each one, then sealed it artistically with the highly colored wax.

Saturday night is a joyful one for the laboring people of that section of Chicago, so by eight o'clock we had our drygoods box placed on the corner of Halstead and Van Buren streets, I think, where there are hundreds of people passing all the time. A big torch was burning, and there I stood on top of the box all decked out in my "rentals," making the greatest speech of my life to the people who crowded around. I ended by saying, "Now, ladies and gentlemen, is the time, for there are only a few bottles of this wonderful compound left."

Anderson, who was standing in the middle of the crowd, elbowed his way to the front, planked fifty cents down on the box and at the same time remarking, "Give me a bottle of that; it is the only kind that ever done me any good." It is wonderful how the sophisticated inhabitants of large cities can be fooled. This started them, and it wasn't long before our supply was exhausted. I returned the clothes to my friend Ikey, and the next day we were on our way to the real West, our tickets reading Yankton, South Dakota.

The morning we arrived in Yankton it was raining, so instead of going out to look for a job, we hung around one of the general mercantile establishments all the forenoon. We had only about twenty cents between us and we spent it for sardines and soda crackers. That afternoon we were successful in landing a job out on Brown's ranch, a distance of fifty miles from Yankton.

We learned that Brown had been wanting a couple of men for some time, and he had notified the manager of the store to the effect that if any stray ones came around his place of business to advise him and he would send in after them. The storekeeper put the proposition up to us and we accepted on the spot. We had to spend the night in Yankton, and he advanced us money with which to pay our lodging. The next morning, by break of day, we were on our way to the great ranch lands and those two little western horses attached to that light wagon were only about six hours in conveying us to "Brown's X," as it was generally known throughout the country of South Dakota.

Six long lonely months were enough on that ranch. There was only one incident of any importance during our stay at Brown's place in the heart of the range country of Dakota. A part of a letter received from my good friend Anderson not many months ago will acquaint the reader with this little episode of mine. In recalling some of our past experiences, he writes: "Say, but didn't we make the eatables do the disappearing act, though, when we would come in after inhaling great draughts of Dakota ozone? And those cow-punchers were all good fellows—that is, all except Baker. I am at a loss to understand why he had it in for you, unless it was your unconscious 'hit' with that Parker girl, and I think he had designs on her himself. I believe that when he dared you to ride that 'bronco' without saddle, bridle, or stirrups, or anything else except a girth, that he hoped you would either be killed or permanently injured, for he seemed disappointed when you came out unscratched. Straddling the bare back of an 'outlaw' with a mean disposition is a darn tough proposition, especially as you have nothing to hold on to except the mane. I'll never forget the day Baker told the Bunch that after he had finished dinner he was going to show that 'college kid' a few things about the manly art, and when you came to, you would probably know something.

"When you came in the bunk house I had a hunch that there was going to be something doing of a disagreeable nature, and I was a trifle uneasy, as Baker was really an excellent specimen of physical manhood—but then so was Reynolds an excellent specimen of physical manhood, and, incidentally, the latter knew a few things about that 'manly art.'

"Truly, I gloated inwardly when, after he 'cussed you out,' and you proceeded to give him a little practical demonstration of 'fist against face and face against floor,' and repeated the same until he had had enough.

"'He was going to hit you.' Yes, the horrid, mean, cruel, brutal man. He hit your fist so hard with his jaw that the sheer force of it knocked him down. But he at least was man enough to apologize, and I noticed a marked change in him from that day on, a change in both countenance and manner."

Six months in the bad lands of Dakota had tanned me till I could hardly be told from an Indian. It did not affect Anderson so much for he was naturally dark skinned and the change was not so perceptible. I put on about twenty pounds while he added over ten. Six full months there had broadened, thickened and toughened us.

On our way back East we stopped over in St. Paul for several days, and there we blew in the little sums which represented six hard months' work at thirty dollars per. As the old fellow would say, "we did it brown," and had we not purchased through tickets to Chicago from Yankton, we never would have landed there seven days after leaving the ranch lands.

At any rate we landed in Chicago safe and sound, and not a sou between the two of us. On leaving St. Paul we had forty-two cents; forty cents we spent on the train for oranges, bananas and a couple of magazines, while the two cents was spent for a postage stamp. This stamp was used in mailing Anderson's letter, which he had written about a month before while we were doing the cowboy stunt.

When we alighted from the train we were truly two wild looking men, for neither of us had sufficient or proper clothing. We had intended purchasing some garments in St. Paul during our stay there, but by the time we were ready to make our purchases we found that we were minus the cash capital required. Both of us wore sombreros, overalls and flannel shirts. Back in the Windy City and broke again! But this thought did not haunt us for we had grown accustomed to being in that condition, no longer embarrassing.

We proceeded to an Employment Agency, where we had a few months previously secured positions, and again we made application for jobs. "Just anything," for we were down and out and needed the money. We told the manager that we had had some experience as housemen and such a job would suit us well enough. He informed us that he had a call for a couple of men out on East End Avenue in the Hyde Park section, and that we might go out there and make application for the places.

We didn't have a darn cent to deposit with him for securing the places for us, so he decided to wait for his money till we had drawn our first week's wages. He said we looked pretty honest and that he would trust us for the four dollars. He further added that we looked more like bronco busters or prize fighters than we did like housemen. He 'phoned to the house on East End Avenue where they wanted the men and told them that we were coming out. From this particular Employment Agency to the house where we were to go it was a distance of eight miles so we had to hoof it out there, for neither of us had carfare.

Well, in short, we arrived there about dusk and were successful in securing the places as housemen for this millionaire. We were to begin work next morning, so we hit toward a restaurant where we got supper for carrying in about a ton of coal from the street to the third story of a cheap tenement house. That night we slept on the benches in Lincoln Park and at six the next morning were at our posts.

The work pleased us all right, for it was light and simply meant beating carpets, scrubbing floors, washing windows, mowing the lawns, polishing the brass on the doors, in fact merely carrying out the duties of an every day houseman.

We were working for the Coleridges. The old gentleman was a wealthy glass manufacturer, and for our services at this particular residence we received ten dollars per, meals included. Oh, we used to have some lively times.

One day, while busily engaged in the reception hall, scrubbing the marble stairway, I cast my peepers on the card tray, and, my curiosity being aroused, I "copped" a couple of invitations the postman had brought that morning. There were five in all, so I thought that two would be enough for Anderson and myself. When I went down in the basement to get some more clean rags from the laundry girl, Anderson was there engaged in sweeping. I gave him the wink and a nod, and when he came out we went back to the furnace room and examined the invitations to a dance which was to be given by Mrs. Ostrand at her residence on Cornell Avenue. We then and there decided to accept.

The time for this affair soon came around and we held our nerve for we were determined to do the Soldier of Fortune act once in our lives. The afternoon before the dance we stopped work about four o'clock and went to our room where there was some tall scrubbing, and much time spent on our rusty hides. This preliminary part of the toilet completed, we took a car downtown and there I made arrangements to rent a pair of pumps, silk hat, white kid gloves, full dress suit, top coat and the other necessary apparel. While I was getting fitted up in this establishment, Anderson busied himself in purchasing a few toilet articles.

We set out, I in my rented clothes, and he in his full dress uniform, which he had no right to wear. On turning the corner we hailed a cab and had the driver head toward Mr. Ostrand's. We drove swiftly up the driveway, alighted, and presented our cards of admission. Ten minutes later found us in the reception hall looking casually about, smiling and talking pleasantly to one another. I remarked that it was very strange that our friends were not there to receive us after our having received such a cordial invitation. Anderson ventured, "Well, indeed, it is embarrassing for us that our friends have neglected us so shamefully."

We saw that we were not making any progress standing there so we entered the big ball room, which was one lovely sight. The floral decorations were beautiful and the music rendered by the orchestra was perfect. The ball room was filled with beautiful women, who wore handsome gowns and precious jewels. We rubbed shoulders with the best of them and my chance was not long in coming. We were rather to the side of the big folding doors leading to the reception hall. A couple of young ladies nearby were apparently engaged in some interesting topic of conversation. They had only been there a few moments when a young fellow walked up to them and addressing the brunette, said "Why, how do you do, Miss Miles, how are you?" She greeted him cordially and he began to inquire about her people back in Iowa; how long she was going to be in Chicago, and a number of other questions. I overheard the whole conversation so I whispered to Anderson, "Well, old man, this is my chance, lie low and watch your Uncle Dudley."

I left his side and an instant later I was standing face to face with the young lady whose name was Miles. Approaching her, I extended my hand in a most familiar manner, and at the same time said, "Why, Miss Miles, how are you, how are your folks in Iowa? What a delightful time we had at the last dance."

She looked at me in a doubtful sort of way and replied, "I'm sorry, but I don't believe I remember you."

"Condon," I volunteered, and then she smiled sweetly and said, "Oh, yes, certainly I remember you, Mr. Condon, how stupid of me to have forgotten."

I pretended I had met her out in Iowa at a dance and she never knew the difference or even suspected me in the least. She introduced me to the blonde with whom she had been conversing and shortly afterward I motioned Anderson over to where we were standing and presented him as my young friend who had recently graduated from the U. S. Naval Academy and was spending only a few days in Chicago awaiting his assignment to a ship.

Well, we met these two girls and they in turn introduced us to others, and before we departed we had sipped and chatted and danced with many. We avoided the hostess of the evening very cleverly, and as luck would have it none of our new acquaintances were so rude as to inquire who invited us.

There was one little incident of the evening which was the biggest piece of nerve I have ever seen displayed on any occasion. It was after the fifth dance that we spied the two Coleridge girls sitting over beneath some palms in the rear of the ball room. Anderson walked over to where they were, and introducing himself, he struck up a conversation with these fair ones of our own household. They certainly did stare at that young cadet and when he signaled me over, and in a most diplomatic manner, "May I present Mr. Condon?" the girls appeared as though they knew not what to say.

Two days later Mrs. Coleridge overheard a conversation between her daughter Aileen and Anderson. He was lovemaking, and she said, "O, Will, I knew all the time that you would fulfill my dream."

During the three weeks we had been there this devil Anderson had been making eyes at "Miss Aileen," as the servants spoke of her, and it ended as most stories do; they saw, he loved, and she conquered. On hearing this astounding conversation, Mrs. Coleridge promptly dismissed us from service.

Out of a job again! Well, what did we care? We had been in that identical fix a score of times before.

Two weeks later found us in Ohio as representatives for a publishing company, that sounds so much better than "just book agents," where came the "doing" of Fostoria, Tiffin, and last but not least, Fremont.

I can still remember those samples of front door eloquence, which we used to reel off to all the mothers. I shall never forget one instance in particular when I was telling a mother these books were worth their bulk in diamonds, their weight in gold, or some words to that effect, when I happened to look across at Anderson and beheld his countenance, usually stoical on such occasions, distorted in a good-natured grin. I exploded in laughter, tried unsuccessfully to apologize, then, not wishing to make myself any more ridiculous than I could help, bolted for the screen door, slammed it after me, and left one William B. Anderson of Brooklyn, to make the best of the situation, while I lowered the record for a hundred yard dash down the street. But the best part of it was that he was more than equal to the occasion, and sold her a set of books.

We were representatives of the Students' Reference Work, an encyclopedia in a nut shell, so to speak, condensed for the use of school children. During ten days as representatives of this publishing house we found two purchasers.

We would stroll up to a house, rap, and on being confronted by the lady of the house we would promptly ask her if she had children in the public schools. As soon as we asked about her children, she would become interested, thinking we were school authorities, and then invite us inside. Once seated in the house we would approach the subject of the child's advancement by degrees, and then when the time came I would bring to view a prospectus of the book, which I carried concealed under my coat. We had to practice deceit to gain admittance to the houses, for if ever any of them saw a book agent approaching they would let you stand there till doom's day without answering the bell.

Next came Toledo, Ohio, where we thought we'd try a Thespian career, so we shanghaied into that unknown aggregation of "hamfatters." Looking ahead we could see ourselves in the limelight, actors, "stars," if you please, at a salary of $1,000 the week, and all that sort of thing; the rude awakening came later. The cynical manager, rejoicing in the name of Hoppstein, still owes yours truly a certain little sum for services rendered in a thinking part, notwithstanding the fact that I have jogged his memory several times with a few please remits.

It was in Toledo that we separated, Anderson beating it towards the West, while I struck out for home. Before leaving Toledo, Anderson served a week as "barker" for a refreshment stand and side-show of the "Feast and Furies" company. I was in Toledo for his first day's performance, and as I looked at that noisy, brazen barker, I hazily remembered that a few months before I had seen this same individual in Cadet navy blue, jauntily marching on dress parade.

We had been together nine months, sharing each others joys and sorrows. Each found a good companion in the other, and it was hard to separate. However, before departing, we signed a pledge to meet again on the Pacific Coast. This pledge was to the effect that we would meet in the Post Office of Palo Alto, California, on January 5th, between the hours of twelve and one. If it so happened that it was impossible for either of us to get there, we were to inform the other by wire or letter, stating the cause of delay and also advising date of arrival. With this pledge signed and sealed, we parted in the month of August.