 
Madison Square to Yonkers |
| TO=NIGHT! | TO=NIGHT! | TO=NIGHT! |
Who left New York without a dollar, to eat his way to San Francisco, within one year,
WILL RELATE 100 HAIR=BREADTH ESCAPES
Lassoing elephants in India; hunting chamois with sling-shots in the Alps; perils of an ostrich ride through the great African desert; and a kangaroo hop across Australia—THE BIGGEST HOP ON RECORD.
Gleanings from the Press.
"His stories will make a hyena laugh."—New York Bombast.
"Pye Pod is nothing more than a cake of sugar boiled down from the syrup of Lawrence Stearne, Dean Swift, Cervantes, Artemus Ward, and Josh Billings."—Chicago Tornado.
EVERY MAN AND WOMAN
who has Thirty cents to throw away, should put one in a Yonkers Bank and Twenty-nine in the pocket of the donkey traveler.
| TICKETS, $0.29. | TICKETS, TWENTY=NINE CENTS |
Even Macaroni lent a hoof, and was led by a boy through the streets, bearing a pasteboard sandwich which reached from ears to tail. The residents of Mistletoe Avenue gazed at the ridiculous spectacle, indignantly at first; but on the return trip they crowded in open door-ways and regarded the procession of beast and tagging boys, as much as to say, "We must go and hear the donkey lecture."
Macaroni had quite recovered; his exercise did him good. My lecture promised to be a huge success. The Tuesday Morning Squib and the Evening Sunrise contained alluring advertisements of the event sure to puncture an epoch in my life.
When the hour arrived, the populace, I was secretly informed, with twenty-nine cents in one hand and their lives in the other crowded about the hotel and called loudly for admittance.
My hands trembled, my hair throbbed, and my heart leaped in the ecstacy that comes with one's first great triumph, while I stood in the butler's pantry waiting for a friend to introduce me—to bid me enter the stage—the first stage of lunacy. When I issued forth, I was so excited I could not distinguish the audience from so many chairs. Having agreed to divide the receipts with my host for the use of his house, my visions of wealth got confused with my words, and I talked for an hour with all the eloquence and enthusiasm I could muster,—though I should have said less to a smaller house,—and with a sore throat retired to the refreshment room, followed by my press agent from Brooklyn. The "Doctor" handed me just twenty-nine cents. My audience had consisted of three persons: the landlord, the head-waiter, and the Dago printer whom I owed three dollars.
Reverses are like children's diseases. If they come too late in life, they go hard with us; and if too early, they may visit us again.
I was not totally bankrupt. Not willing to begin a "three ball" business at the very outset, I resolved to rise at dawn and sell enough chromos to that unappreciative community to pay my bills, if I had to sell them at cost. I set to work. By one o'clock I had visited every shop, store and Chinese laundry, and was talking hoarsely to a corner grocer who, seated on a keg of mackerel, sampling limburger cheese, grinned with satisfaction at his fortified position and swore like a skipper. I offered a picture for fifteen cents, but the reduction in price did not disturb his physical equilibrium.
"I vant not a peakture at any price," he affirmed.
"I lack fifteen cents of the amount of my hotel bill," I urged; "I am in dire straits."
His reply was weak, but the cheese was strong enough to help him out. My mental magazine had but a single charge left, and I fired it. "Isn't it worth fifteen cents to know a fool when you see one?"
"Ye-e-es, I dink it ess," answered Sweitzer Edam, "and eef you vill write it on the peakture I'll buy it." I made the sale.
Then after calling on the Mayor, who received me cordially, swapped autographs, and asked to see my partner, I saddled my animal and led him to the hotel for my traps.
"You aren't going before dinner?" the proprietor asked; "it's ready now."
"I'm flat broke—can't afford to eat," I returned sadly.
"Then come in and have a meal on me," said he. "A man who has worked as you have to square with his landlord shan't leave my hotel hungry." I yielded.
My trip to Tarrytown was accomplished on my own legs. Macaroni refused to budge unless somebody led him. The whole town turned out to see us; it was an event for the hotel. That evening I was asked to McCarty's Show, at the Theatre, paying thirty-five cents admission; I learned that the "Dutch treat" was in vogue when too late for my pride to let me decline the invitation. Next day, at noon, I set out for Sing Sing, now called Ossining, about seven miles away.
My steed, that was really not half a steed, seemed to be gradually recovering from the doubt that an endless journey had been mapped out for him, and kept me watching and prodding him constantly. On one occasion he drove through a gap in a fence; on another, he scraped through a hedge and relieved himself of my Winchester, coat and saddle-bags, for which he immediately expressed regret. At length, he balked; and I sat down by the road-side a half hour before he showed readiness to go.
While there meditating upon my trials, a pedestrian stopped and listened to my sixteen complaints. He seemed much amused, and suggested that if I would hang a penny before the donkey's nose he might follow the cent. A practical idea at once came to mind, and when, soon afterward, we reached a farm house, I put my idea to the test. I purchased some apples, and suspended one from a bough secured to the saddle and reaching over the donkey's head. The scheme worked admirably. Mac pursued the bobbing, swinging fruit at such a speed that he was nearly winded when we reached town, having manipulated his short legs to the velocity of two and one-third miles an hour.
We reached town shortly after five. The village is nicely situated high on the banks of the Hudson, and some of its residents have a beautiful view of the river, while others see nothing more picturesque than a stone wall. Sing Sing, to use the more familiar name, is the seat of an extensive prison, patronized by sojourners from all parts of the world and heavily endowed, being backed by the wealth of the State.
A local organization, the Sing Sing Steamer Company, invited me to its monthly dinner that evening, and, to my surprise and gratitude, purchased with a sealed envelope one of "our" pictures for the club rooms. I don't think it a good custom to buy a pig in a poke, but this time the pig was fat and healthy, and I found myself several dollars richer.
Next morning I bought a revolver, for, as I had to employ the larger part of the day in making sales and working my wits in a multitude of ways to keep my ship from stranding and the crew from starving, I was often compelled to travel long into the night and required some more handy weapon than a rifle for defence against pirates.
The newspapers generally heralded my coming, often greatly magnifying my successes, and I felt that the hard times, which the country at large was suffering, made such a thing as a hold-up not only possible but imminent any night.
Having received an invitation to visit the State Prison, I set out in the forenoon to find it, and a policeman (a very proper person, by the way), guided me to that famous hostelry. Macaroni also was invited, but the affrighted animal declined to enter the prison gates. Whether he thought he saw a drove of zebras, or was repelled by a guilty conscience, I know not, but, falling back in a sitting posture, he threw his ears forward and brayed loudly.
On entering the office, the secretary rose from his chair and seized me. "Professor," he said, "you are my prisoner for an hour; come this way and I will present you to the warden."
We left the room and walked over to that official's desk.
"Mr. Warden," said the secretary, "Allow me to introduce Professor Pythagoras Pod, the illustrious donkey-traveler, who is eating his way across the continent."
"Show the gentleman to the dining-room, and give him a plate of soup," said the warden hospitably; then, squeezing my fingers, he waived me to the chief keeper of the prison. The warden noted my hesitancy in leaving, and asked if there was anything in particular he could do for me.
"Will you allow me to sit in the electric chair?" I asked.
"Ye-e-es," he replied politely, but apparently startled, "although I consider you are already having capital punishment for your asinine undertaking;" and turning to the keeper, he said, "Give him fifty thousand volts; nothing less will phase a man of his nerve." I thanked him.
With faltering step I entered the solemncholy chamber. A colored prisoner was to follow me a day later. Little he knew that he would sit in the same chair Pod sat in the previous day. The keeper said everything was in readiness for turning on the current that has the power to drift a soul from this world to another in the twinkling of an eye. The battery had been thoroughly tested,—and detested, too. In less than thirty seconds from the time an ordinary prisoner enters a door of this world he enters the door of another; but, Pod, being a man of extraordinary nerve, walked out the door he entered. When I climbed into that terrible chair, I held my breath. The keeper said it required only a certain number of volts to kill a man; that fifty thousand, such as the warden had suggested for my pleasure, would not so much as singe a hair of my head. If I survived the first shock, I would have something to boast; as it would be abusing a confidence to describe the sensations of electrocution, I must not do so.
On returning to the office the warden congratulated me, and said I had earned my freedom. He even presented me a plaster of Paris ornament,—made by a prisoner who had never seen Paris,—and a package of prison-made tobacco, which I might chew, or eschew, as I liked. While I appreciated these gifts, how much more I should have valued a battery of electrical currents to administer to my donkey.
Crowds assembled to view our exit from town at two o'clock. We reached Croton, some six miles beyond, about dusk. As we approached the bridge crossing of the Croton River, I saw a duck and thought I would test my marksmanship with a revolver. My drowsy steed had nearly reached the center of the bridge when I banged at the innocent hell-diver. A compound disaster followed the shot as the frightened jackass shied to the left and dashed through the iron frame-work, tail over ears into the river, scraping me out of the saddle, but dropping me, fortunately, on the bridge. I managed, however, to get the duck; the donk got the ducking. It was a marvel that he didn't drown; from the way he brayed, I judged he was of the same opinion.
Long after dark we arrived in Peekskill. Throughout the day the weather was threatening, and I tramped the last three miles in the rain. I had donned my mackintosh and slung my overcoat across the saddle, and was pacing ahead of Mac, with reins in hand, coaxing the stubborn beast on, when suddenly he jumped. I turned just in time to discover in the darkness two men, one of whom was suspiciously near to the donkey. I told them civilly to walk ahead, as they excited my animal.
"That's none of our business," one of them remarked; "we'll walk where we d—d please."
"Not this time," I said, as I got the drop on them with my new shooting-iron; and I marched the ruffians into town. The sneaks probably wanted my overcoat. Before we were fairly in town I dismissed them, and advised them thereafter to cultivate civility toward travelers.
It was Friday night. I called upon the Mayor, and engaged the Town Hall for a lecture, resolved to try my luck again in that line. Alas! my second reverse! This time it was a too impromptu affair.
Sunday I rested, but Monday, when everything augured bright for the week, I was shocked to find Macaroni ill. At once I summoned a doctor, a dentist, and a veterinary surgeon for a consultation, and breathlessly awaited the verdict.
"Your jackass has a complication of diseases," said the vet; "among them influenza, bots, and hives."
"He has the measles," pronounced the doctor.
"He is teething," insisted the dentist.
This was too much; with a troubled brow and an empty stomach I went to breakfast, and left the doctors to fight it out.
CHAPTER III.
Polishing shoes at Vassar
Polishing shoes at Vassar
Never before had I encountered such a disagreeable road. While I tramped over the highlands from Peekskill to Fishkill Landing, Macaroni barely crawled. He kept me constantly in the fear that he would lie down and roll, and finally he did so, selecting a mud puddle. I was told donkeys fairly dote on dust, and that a roll will invigorate them more than will a measure of grain. But mine was different to other donkeys.
Before leaving Peekskill, Dr. Shook said Mac showed symptoms of mud fever, although the tendency lay strongly toward phlebitus, farcy, and poll-evil. He even warned me that I might expect epizootic to set in any day.
To urge Mac on to Newburgh in one day necessitated my start, at day-break. We reached the Fishkill ferry at half-past eight, covering the twenty-mile journey in fifteen hours. The highland road was rough where the mud had dried. Steep and rocky summits stood out, bold and barren, save where occasional bunches of young cedars huddled among the denuded trees.
Finally I saw a small structure, through whose open windows could be heard a chorus of youthful voices intoning. "The—dog—caught—the—pig—by—the—yer." It was a school house. I remembered that song of my boyhood; I thought it would be interesting to drop in, and forthwith rapped on the door. Meanwhile, Mac stuck his head in the window, causing a deafening chime of cries within. A painful silence followed. I waited patiently for admittance; then I opened the door. The room was deserted, the exit at the opposite end wide open, I crossed the floor and looked out to discover the teacher and two dozen young ones scurrying up the mountain through the scant woods. I called to them, but they ran the faster. Wonder what they thought they saw?
With every mile's advance we penetrated more deeply the mountain wilderness. Before long Macaroni began to slow up. Again I had recourse to the scheme of suspending an apple over his head. The beast increased his speed at once, making a lunge at the unobtainable, and chasing it with rapid stride. He evidently had never read the story about the boy who pursued a rainbow, and unlike that boy, was stupid enough to be fooled twice. A few miles beyond I answered some inquiries of a woman out driving, and sold her a photo. I had no sooner stopped with the article in hand than I was startled with the sound of gagging behind, and turning, I beheld the donkey wrenching in the throes of strangulation. Having lowered the apple to the ground, he had swallowed it, together with the string and half the bough. I withdrew the "intrusions" with difficulty, and returned to the woman who had fainted. I had no restoratives; but I had once resuscitated a Jew with a novel expedient, and determined to try the same plan in this case.
"These pictures are fifteen cents each, although I sometimes get twenty-five for one," I said somewhat forcibly; "don't trouble yourself, madam, trust me with your pocket-book, I will—." At once the woman awoke, and counting out the lesser amount mentioned, pulled on the reins and drove away. Let me grasp the hand of that man who can beat a woman at a bargain!
When passing through Cold Spring, I was startled by the booming of cannon at West Point, just across the river. I had not expected such honors. So overawed was I by the salute that I forgot to count the guns, but presume there were twenty-one. Far above and behind the group of academic buildings still frowned old Fort Putnam, deploring its shameful neglect, and casting envious glances at the modern Observatory below and the newer buildings lower down. Every mile of the beautiful Hudson recalled to mind happy memories of my own school days, which made my present ordeal doubly distressing.
When night lowered her sombre shades, my thoughts took flight to more distant scenes. My heart and brain grew weary, and I forgot for a time that my bones were lame and my feet sore from walking, walking, walking on an endless journey, with no perceptible evidence of approaching nearer to the goal. At length, the Albany night boat steamed past us, its myriad lights dancing on the ruffled waters, or revealing a jolly group of passengers on deck. The air was painfully quiet; and when the song, "Oh, Where is My Wandering Boy To-night," floated over to me in answer to Macaroni's bray, I found consolation in the thought that perhaps some of the tourists recognized my outfit in the dark, and pitied me.
I had by this time discovered mountain climbing to be a donkey's leading card. He may loiter on the flat, but he will make you hump when it comes to steep ascents. The night was mild for that season of the year, and becoming considerably heated, I doffed my overcoat and spread it over the saddle on my mackintosh. When we were descending the hill on the other side, I dismounted and led Mac with the bridle reins, but kept a good watch on the coats. After a while, however, I became so absorbed in thought that I neglected my duty, and, finally, when I did turn to inspect them they were missing. It gave me the worst fright I had experienced since leaving New York.
Staking Mac to a gooseberry bush, I immediately retraced my steps a mile or more through an Egyptian darkness before I found the garments lying securely in the mud. On my return to the bush I was alarmed not to find the donkey. That "phenomenon" had eaten that prickly shrub to the roots and fled either down the road to Fishkill or through the woods. I started out for town on a run. Imagine my astonishment to find Mac patiently standing in front of the ferry. The boat had landed her passengers; and had the donkey not taken the precaution to anticipate me, we should have had to remain on that side of the river for the night. As it was, the ferry waited for Mac's rider—thanks to the considerate pilot.
Newburgh! I recognized her by her streets at an angle of 45 degrees. Mac took to the place hugely. I stopped at a small combination hotel and restaurant, where roast turkey and pumpkin pie decorated the windows, and made arrangements for the night.
When about to leave, I was visited by a delegation from the local militia who, for a fair consideration, induced us both to remain over and referee a game of basket ball that evening at the armory. Mac did not accept very gracefully, and had to be coerced. What I knew about the game wouldn't tax a baby's mind, but that didn't matter. It proved to be an event for the regiment, for Pod, and for Macaroni.
Next day I found my donkey's maladies increasing. They had already tripled in number since leaving Peekskill; and, to think, I had arrived at Newburg just two days too late to secure a sound animal.
I pushed on to Poughkeepsie.
Upon arriving at that university city I was pleased to find the inhabitants not quite so slow as the appearance of the place would indicate. The city has of late years become the Henley of America. It is the seat of Eastman's business college, as well as a very progressive college for girls—Vassar. The residents generally drop three letters in spelling the name of their proud city, and make it Po'keepsie. There were four good points I liked about the place, and that was one of them; the other three were, the Mayor, the Vassar girls, and a newspaper reporter who, for a consideration, engaged Mac and me to appear at the theatre in an amateur play.
It was to be a new stage in our travels. The urchin who led the donkey about the streets proudly bore in one hand a standard inscribed: "KEEP YOUR EYES ON THE DONKEY;" and those who obeyed saw printed on a canvas blanket gracefully draped over Mac's back the startling announcement: "WILL APPEAR TO-NIGHT IN HOGAN'S ALLEY, AT KIRCHNER'S HALL." I believe Mac paraded the city utterly oblivious of the interest he created.
I had promised to have my donkey at the Hall at five sharp. There were two staircases for him to climb, and I had not contemplated the enormity of the task before me. We tugged on his halter; we set three dogs barking at his heels; but the only time he stirred was when he removed the dogs. He just braced himself well against the curb, and brayed until he had called the audience to the show two hours ahead of time. After a while two strong policemen took a hand with me in a three-handed game, and turned over a jack. Finally, four more men assisting, the beast was carried upstairs and into the theatre, where he was forced to walk a plank on to the stage. Then I fed and watered him, and combing his fur the right way, left him to the melancholy contemplation of his position.
When we returned an hour later, he was still as immovable as a statue. The stage manager directed me to ride the donkey out from behind the scenery at a given signal; so I began to practice with him. I cannot describe all that happened the next hour. By seven o'clock Mac was fairly broken, and everything looked promising.
The house was crowded; only a portion of the attendance of the fair held in connection with the play, down stairs, could find seats; and the performance was to be repeated. One part of the play, however, not on the program, could not be reproduced. Apparently no attempts had ever been made to convert Mac to religion, for when the Salvation Army entered the scene, banging drums and clashing cymbals, the terrified jack began to back toward the footlights. The stage manager, fearing lest the beast might back off the stage, dropped the curtain. But that didn't check Mac; he backed against the curtain and under it, and dropped plumb into the audience, making five "laps" in a second, his best time to date. One fat man, over-burdened, crashed through his chair. Fortunately nobody was seriously injured, but several had spasms, and more than one girl crawled over the backs of the seats in terror. "Such doings," as a paper stated next day, "were never known before in this town in the annals of donkeys—four-legged or two-legged either."
As soon as the excitement was over, Mac was assisted on to the stage, and the play was twice repeated, all three performances before crowded houses.
While returning Mac to his stable I heard the bray of a donkey, and resolved next day to look him up. Then I sent a message to a young lady friend at Vassar, and wrote my weekly story for the papers.
I frequently refer to my Vassar friends, but I doubt if they ever mention me. I had written one that I would polish two dozen pairs of Vassar shoes at the rate of fifty cents a pair, either on, or off. Allowing me two minutes for each pair and half a minute for making change, I believed I could polish to the queen's taste some forty-eight pairs in two hours. My proposal was accepted. The hour set was 5:00 A. M., while the teachers would be dreaming about the binomial formula, blue light, and turnips. And I was expected to polish the shoes on the foot.
Accordingly, I was aroused from slumber at four, and practiced on the stove legs for a full half-hour, to get polishing down to a science. Then I took the trolley car to the hedge fence, stole in through the stately gate, and took the time of the huge clock above the entrance. Then I took my own time. I had four minutes to spare, and knew Vassar girls were anything but slow.
"The days of chivalry are not gone," says George Eliot, "notwithstanding Burke's grand dirge over them; they live still in that far-off worship paid by many a youth and man to the woman of whom he never dreams that he shall touch so much as her little finger or the hem of her robe." I had no sooner placed my chair at the right marble staircase than I heard the rustle of skirts, immediately followed by a bevy of charming girls stealing down the steps on tip-toe, all a-giggle and a-smile, balancing their supple forms with outstretched arms, and enlivening the early dawn with the mischief beaming from their eyes. "Good morning," they said, as each in turn shook hands with me. I was inspired to hug every one of them, but dared not show the lack of polish.
Raising my hat, I said softly, "Shine," and number one mounted the throne, soon to be "daubed" a queen. Bless me! wasn't she pretty! As she gaily lifted her skirts to give my brushes a free swing, a perfect pair of ankles burst into view, daintily imprisoned in black silk hose, and—well, I naturally was excited. Blacking flew like the mud did when the beer wagon bumped against Mac, and a brush flopped out of my hand through a colored window, letting in more light, for it was still quite dusky. It seemed to be impossible for the young lady to keep her feet in place on the block, and not until she suggested I should hold her boot in place did I begin to polish to my credit. After that no girl could keep her feet stationary unless I held her foot with one hand and polished with the other. "Next," and another winsome creature took the chair, and poured fifty pennies into my hand. I took it for granted that she was some copper king's daughter.
I worked so hard that I was soon perspiring. After finishing a dozen pair, when about to polish the second shoe on number thirteen, someone claimed she heard a professor reading Volapuk. At once there was a scurry, and a rustle of skirts. Number thirteen kicked over the blacking accidental, and fled with one shoe unpolished; but that odd shoe did just as good service as any of the rest. The whole bevy of girls vanished before I had time to collect my senses, my chair, and my brushes, and chase myself away. When once started, I ran to beat the cars, and reached the hotel in time for breakfast, the richer by six dollars and a lace handkerchief.
Come to think of it, what an extr'ordinary adventure that was for a modest and dignified traveler with a donkey! I wondered, as I sipped my coffee, what the Principal said when she discovered so many neat-looking shoes.
CHAPTER IV.
An even trade no robbery
An even trade no robbery
An empty heart is like an empty barrel conveniently located; nobody will dare to gamble on the first thing to be thrown into it: and a full heart, like a barrel of fruit, must be sorted frequently, lest a bit of blemish corrupt the whole.
My heart was as full of Macaroni from New York to Po'keepsie as my stomach once had been from Milan to Naples. I first fancied my donkey, next admired him, suddenly became conscious of a growing contempt for him, and finally pity, now that the time for parting with him had come. Having depended entirely upon the stupid beast for companionship, he really had become a pet. Often he had offended and vexed me beyond seeming pardon; on the other hand, he had afforded me amusement during my lonesome hours, often causing me to laugh outright at his antics. But, in order to complete my journey on time, I felt I must avail myself of the first opportunity to exchange him for a livelier steed. It was my Vassar friend who told me about Dr. Jackson and his precocious donkey; she claimed the animal often displayed human intelligence.
With some difficulty I found the doctor's residence; when, introducing myself and acquainting him with my errand, he put on his hat and took me to the barn. Behold! the cutest little donkey I ever saw. He was a sleek, slender creature of blush color, with an intelligent but roguish countenance, and with cropped ears which gave him a semblance to a deer. The doctor said the animal was hardly three years old. His hoofs were very small, so tiny that he might have stepped into an after-dinner cup and not damaged more than your appetite for coffee.
"What do you call the little fellow?" I asked.
"Mac A'Rony," said the doctor.
The coincidence made me smile. "That, too, is my donkey's name," I declared, somewhat to his astonishment. He then spelled his animal's name, showing that there was as much difference between the names as between the donkeys, between patrician and plebeian. He said that Mac A'Rony was the lineal descendant of an ancient and honorable family of Irish asses; whereas, I believed Macaroni could boast of no more distinguished heritage than that of Italian peasantry. The doctor even harbored the suspicion that his donkey must be a descendant of Balaam's famous ass.
"His bluish coat is a reflection of the blue blood in his veins," observed the doctor; and I was made to feel of the same opinion.
I coveted that donkey, but had little hope of securing it, as my means were so limited. Imagine my astonishment when the doctor proposed that we make an even exchange of animals.
"If your overland journey continues to be as notable as it is thus far," said he, "I should like to possess the first donkey you used."
I dared not believe my ears.
"But you have not seen my donkey," I reminded him.
"I will accept your representation of the animal," he replied. The bargain made, we parted. An hour later Macaroni was in the doctor's barn, and Mac A'Rony in the livery stable. The greatest objection I had to my new companion was his youth. The fastidious appetite of this Irish gentleman demanded bread, and other table fare; he actually stuck up his nose at oats and hay. What would he do should we get stranded! I might live a whole day on three milk punches which I could pay for with photos, but experience had taught me it required many punches to keep a donkey moving.
When about to depart, I was disconcerted to discover the doctor's boy riding his new possession down the street toward the hotel. Macaroni seemed to realize we were to part forever. There was a sad, depressed look in his eyes; his brows knitted, and his nose wept, as he brayed "When shall we three meet again." I felt a pang in my heart, and turning my eyes from him, headed Mac A'Rony for the West.
Shortly afterward, I was stopped by a blacksmith who recognized Mac and asked to shoe him, saying he would do it for a picture, seeing it was I. Of course, I was delighted, and leaving the donkey in his custody, dropped in a restaurant and lunched; after which I bought Mac a loaf of graham bread.
The kind-hearted blacksmith had several horses waiting to be shod, and it was nearly night when Mac A'Rony ceased to be a "bare-foot boy." I remained in Po'keepsie over night, and early next day, Friday, set out for Kingston. But that quadruped traveled so fast that he tired out after going a few miles, and I had to put up at a little inn at Staatsburg for the night. Had it not been that I sold next day a number of photos at princely villas on the way, I should have had trouble to keep from starving. No remittance had come from the papers as yet, and lecturing was out of the question at that time. I had written to several soap, sarsaparilla, tobacco and pill companies for a contract to advertise their stuffs by distributing circulars, or samples, or displaying a sign from my donkey's back, but thus far had received no favorable replies.
At length the blue summits of the Catskills loomed against an azure sky in the west, and I caught occasional glimpses of Kingston and Rondout, the twin cities, nestling in the foothills by the Hudson.
At three o'clock we crossed the ferry, and soon afterward arrived at the Mansion House, Kingston. The landlord received us with gracious hospitality, but I, having lost so much time by accident and other misfortune, only tarried for the night, and hastened on up the valley.
The days were perceptibly shorter while we traveled in the shadow of the Catskills. The roads were so heavy, and the recent cold I had contracted so stiff and uncomfortable, that I decided at seven o'clock to spend the night at a German road-house. Landlord Schoentag gave us soft beds, in spite of his hard name, and his spouse was kind enough to make me a hot brandy and a foot bath. I drank the one; Mac cheated me of the other. I retired early under a pile of bedding as thick as it was short, and soon found myself in a terrible sweat. This was not due alone to the comfortables, but to a party of convivial young people, who thrummed on a discordant piano, and sang, and danced till daylight, their hilarity causing Mac in the stable sundry vocal selections, such as should have disturbed the spirit of Rip Van Winkle, eight miles away.
Monday we pushed on toward Saugerties. But for a delay at Soaper's Creek Bridge, we should have reached Catskill before dark. Mac A'Rony stopped stock still at the bridge approach, and neither the eloquence of gad nor gab moved him an inch. I petted him and patted him; I stroked his ears and I rubbed his nose; and then I asked him point blank what ailed him.
"You big fool, can't you see that sign up there?" he retorted, as he eyed me squarely. It was fully sixty seconds before I realized that the animal had actually spoken; then I looked up and read the sign hanging from the iron girder overhead, "Ten dollars fine for riding or driving over this bridge faster than a walk." I must say I greatly appreciated Mac's consideration for my pocket-book, but his obduracy struck me as being not a little absurd, since he had not yet demonstrated to me that he could go faster than a walk, even on a level and unimpeded road. All I could do was to sit down on a stone and, like Macawber, wait for something to turn up. It seemed ages before a farmer came along with a ton of hay; he was kind enough to slide off the load and assist me to carry the donkey across the bridge.
The night was spent in Catskill. Smith's Hotel was swarming with busy grangers, generally good-hearted, garrulous characters, whose society lightened the tedium of two days, while I nursed my cold and weaned Mac. We reached Athens, a village eight miles to the north, Wednesday noon, but being somewhat rusty in Greek, I ferried the river to Hudson. A light snow had fallen; the wind was sharp shod, and traveled forty miles an hour.
A small German hotel opened its doors to us, and I persuaded Mac to ascend the low stoop and venture half his length indoors; the landlord aided me at the helm and we managed to anchor my "craft" out of range of the storm, though we couldn't get it across the bar. Mac lay down in a heap, and I called for port, to find none in stock. Suddenly, a man in shirt sleeves hastily entered with a pitcher in hand, and before he could check himself, went sprawling over the frightened beast, smashing the pitcher and setting Mac to braying. The man hurriedly collected himself, glanced at the strange-looking quadruped, and not stopping for beer, fled in dismay. When the storm had abated somewhat, we started for Kinderhook.
Late in the afternoon we trailed into a thrifty little town where I found stock port in Stockport. Here the cheery aspect of the Brookside Hotel tempted me to remain over night, and doctor the severe cold in my chest. This tavern, the pride of the village, was said to be the oldest on the old "post road" from New York to Albany. So comfortable was the hotel that I hesitated long before accepting a cordial invitation, extended to me through his coachman, to be the guest of the wealthiest resident of the town. I was driven over to the home of Mr. Van ——, and the affable gentleman introduced me to his family, before driving me to his father's residence. The old gentleman was enthusiastic in his reception of the donkey traveler, and after doping me with some delicious cider, reluctantly allowed his son to keep me for the night.
After a month of "roughing it," my happy affiliation with those refined and cultured people acted like a healing balm to my wearied heart. Many and many a time thereafter on the tiresome, lonesome trail did my memory recall that pleasant evening. The daughters entertained me with music and song, the parents brought out refreshments, and, at last, with a hot foot-bath, and a hotter mustard leaf on my chest, I retired.
Next morning, Georgie, the little son, rushed into my chamber calling, "Get up, you people, the pancakes are getting cold!"
"All right," I answered meekly.
"Oh!" the little fellow gasped with astonishment, as he beheld Pod tucked neck-deep in eider-down. "I—I—I thought you was the girls."
The boy had retired early the evening before, quite ignorant of the fact that the eccentric traveler was delegated to snooze in his sisters' bedroom.
Through the happy agency of conversation Mr. Van —— and I discovered a mutual friendship. The family, somewhat to my embarrassment, insisted upon purchasing pictures galore, and after breakfast and a little music in the glow of a blazing fireplace, I donned my overcoat and made my adieux.
How chill and heartless that December morning was! The wind blew my plug hat off to begin with, and, as I was driven to the Brookside Inn, had the courage to try to freeze my face. A half hour later Mac and Pod were marching to Kinderhook.
CHAPTER V.
The donkey on skates
The donkey on skates
Kinderhook! I promised myself to visit the seminary, so popular in the early '60's, and commune with the spirits of those charming old-fashioned girls of whom mother had often spoken.
After dining at the Kinderhook Hotel, I looked it up, and found it to be then the village academy.
The cold in my chest pained more than ever; I began to fear pneumonia. The landlord's wife said she would be a mother to me. Whew! If she made it as warm for her "old man" as she did for me, I pity and congratulate him in one breath. She prepared a mustard sitz-bath (my feet had suffered two already) powerful enough, she declared, to force cold-blisters on my hair; she slapped mustard leaves on my chest and back; she gave me spirits of camphor for my lips, witch-hazel for my eyes, a pork bandage for my neck, and liberal doses of aconite, quinine, whiskey and rum. Then she innocently asked if I could think of any other place my cold, when fairly on the run, would be likely to settle. Being unable to answer, I called on a physician.
"The landlady has fixed you up admirably," said he; "I cannot benefit you further, unless I advise you to shave off your hair when the blisters have settled on it, to prevent the cold's return."
I expressed my gratitude for his kind assurances, and to my surprise, though he had an electric battery in his room, he refused to charge me.
Without loss of time, I set out and walked two miles to the old homestead of President Martin Van Buren, that stood back from the road behind a group of ancient pines which sighed dolefully as I passed.
The family living there received me kindly, and showed me the library, parlors and hall; the old Dutch wall-paper, picturing ancient hunts, watch-towers, and pastoral scenes, recalled a pleasant sojourn in Holland. A Wagoner family living in the next house asked me to dinner, and I "et" with them.
"I once knew a Van Wagoner," I said; "they were fine people."
"Our family were originally of that name," Mr. Wagoner replied. "They dropped the Van some time ago."
Mac A'Rony said he had never heard of Vans being dropped from Wagoners, but had often seen wagoners dropped from vans.
I next crossed the bridge spanning the creek just out of town, where, it is said, Washington Irving conceived the story of the headless horseman.
President Van Buren gave a ball to some statesmen, and Irving was invited. Some wag among the guests rigged up a dummy on a horse, and let the animal loose to give the author a scare. Wash never lost an opportunity to make a good story, and he made use of the idea.
Mary Ann and Lucretia Van Buren, two aged spinsters, were all who remained of the illustrious family. I called on Mary Ann when Lucretia was absent, and won her favor so quickly that she presented me with a little oil painting which had been in the family over a hundred years.
Close by stood the old brick house, formerly a fort, built with brick brought from Holland. One brick was carved "1623." I saw the house where General Burgoyne is said to have dined, after which I visited Van Buren's grave.
We slept that night in North Chatham, traveling out of the direct route to give the weak-kneed donkey as level a road as possible. We had now been boon companions one week; it seemed a month.
Next day, we passed a rickety barn in which two horses were engaged at a huge tread-wheel, with the dual object of threshing corn-stalks and of keeping their ears warm. My ears were almost frozen; whereas Mac claimed his were as warm as toast. My comrade had the advantage over me in being able, as he expressed it, to wiggle his ears and keep the blood circulating.
I stopped at a shanty near, and asked leave to warm myself, and begged a newspaper to put in my breast. A poverty-stricken but hospitable man welcomed me, and politely took my hat and stuck it on a pitcher of milk. The humble habitation contained two rooms, one store room, the other the living room. The latter was furnished with a square table, now set for the mid-day meal, two beds, a stove which was exerting every effort to boil some ancient pork and frozen cabbage to a state of "doneness," four chairs, and a wash-tub. The housewife was washing clothes while her "old man" acted as cook. A dog reclined on the store-room floor watching a saw-horse. There was not such bric-a-brac visible; a five-year-old calendar and two or three unframed chromos hung on the walls, and when I arose to go I discovered behind me a cracked mirror and a comb that needed dentistry. I was surprised when the woman handed me the desired paper; I should not have accused any of them of being able to read.
"Wall, yer kin see haow all classes of folks lives eny haow," the matron observed, as she screwed her face out of shape in her anxiety to wring the last drop of suds out of a twisted garment.
"Yes," I returned, rising and reaching for my hat, "but how my donkey and I can manage to live to reach 'Frisco interests me more." And politely declining a hunk of pork rind and black bread offered me for a pocket lunch, much to the gratification of the house cat, I sallied forth into the biting blast, knocked several icicles from Mac A'Rony's whiskers, and headed for the state capital.
Further on we tarried a few moments to exchange a word or two with an inquisitive hayseed, who planted himself in the road before us, and stretched forth a brawny hand for both of us to shake.
"Yer th' feller what's goin' to Fran Sanfrisco, hain't yer?" the old man questioned, bracing himself against the boisterous gale.
"Yep," I replied laconically. And at once Mac, yielding to a mighty gust of wind, dashed past the animate obstruction, dragging his master with him.
"Whar be th' biggest crops this year?" he called after us; and Mac, assuming the question was put to him, shouted, "In ostriches. Some of them weigh several stone." As I looked back from the hill, I saw the statuesque figure still gaping at us behind a long, frost-colored beard.
The roads to fame and to the capitol are hilly. Fame seemed to be more easily reached in slippery weather than the capitol in dry. Albany had just experienced a heavy rain, and the roads had frozen. We set out Monday morning to pay our respects to the Governor, the Mayor and other shining lights. When half way up the ascent to the capitol, Mac A'Rony slipped off his feet and slid to the bottom of the hill. Of course, I stayed with him; in a moment we had won fame. The excited populace thronged about us, and the reporters hauled out their paper and pencils. One toboggan slide satisfied Mac, and I was compelled to return him to the stable and go alone.
The Governor was in his chair of state when I arrived at the Executive Chamber. The rumor that the odd traveler, Pye Pod, was in the ante-chamber brought a smile to his lips, which he still wore when he rose to grasp my hand, relishing the humor which I had failed to taste.
"Don't you find it pretty cold traveling these days?" the Governor inquired, as he sat down to write in my autograph album.
"Rather," said I. The Governor chuckled, wished me good luck on my journey and commended me for my pluck. Then I was ushered through the magnificent capitol.
After lunching with an aunt, I visited the Mayor. He, like other notable men, received me graciously and wished me joy, prosperity and health.
Tuesday I hustled early and late to earn a dollar above the expenses of my sojourn in the up-hill city. Wednesday morning I received a small check, the first remittance from the papers. It was only two days before Christmas. The Holiday season seemed to have absorbed all the money in circulation. The snow now lay six inches deep on the level; it had snowed all night and was snowing still. I greatly needed a pair of felt boots with rubber overshoes, but couldn't afford the outlay. So I wrapped strips of gunnysacks round my shoes and trouser legs, bought a pair of earlaps, and saddling my donkey, started for Schenectady, seventeen miles away.
People had cautioned me that donkeys were afraid of snow. I was most agreeably surprised to find Mac A'Rony an exception to the rule; but in another respect, he puzzled me very much. For five days he had not been known to drink, and I concluded that, like an orchid, he slaked his thirst by sucking the juice out of the atmosphere. When I ushered him into the snow, he rubbed his nose in it, and tasted it to satisfy himself that it wasn't sugar, and then majestically waded through, as if it were so much dust.
And so, with less than two dollars in pocket and some fifty photos in my saddle-bags, I urged my donkey through the blinding gale to a road-house, four miles out of Albany, where tethering him to a huge icicle under a low-roofed shed, I went into the tavern to toast my hands and feet, and to warm my inner self.
A few moments later found us fighting the elements again. And though we stopped at fully a dozen houses on that day's journey, we reached Schenectady soon after dark, with my face black and blue from the snowballs Mac rolled with his hoofs and slung at me (he claimed, unintentionally). Both of us were in prime condition to appreciate a hot supper and a soft, warm bed. After seeing my comrade safely sheltered in the hotel barn and leaving instructions with the stable-keeper to lock the door, I spent a pleasant hour with the other hotel guests, who gathered about to hear my story, and to give me all kinds of valuable and worthless advice on traveling with a donkey.
What happened that night may be better understood by reading the following page from my diary:
"It is midnight, halfway between Christmas eve and Christmas morning. For the last three hours I have been looking all over town for Mac. I went to the stable at nine o'clock to fill his stockings, and lo! he was missing. Where he can possibly be and how he got there is beyond my power of conception. I found the lock in the barn door unbroken, but scratched about the keyhole, as if it had been picked. The landlord and the stableman are of the opinion that Union College boys have stolen the donkey and hidden him, just for mischief. In my rambles I failed to detect a sign of any student. A squad of volunteers from among the hotel guests, armed to the teeth and carrying lanterns, were kind enough to go with me donkey hunting, but nothing more than a few ominous traces of Mac's stubborn resistance did we discover. A tuft of donkey hair and a gory human tooth were picked off the barn floor, and also, just outside, a section of the seat of a man's trousers, all of which indicates that the donkey is the unwilling prisoner of a band of wags.
"Going down Fifth Street to Union, we detected Mac's little foot-prints and a college society pin. Just beyond, I found another lock of hair, this time human, indicating some football fiend had parted with a portion of his mane. A torn cravat, a finger of a kid glove, and a piece of human flesh resembling part of a nose, were noted by different members of the posse. Thence on, we traced with much difficulty my donkey's hoof-marks a mile or more into the suburbs, where we lost them. It was then 11:30 P. M. A concensus of opinion resulted in the verdict that at that point the animal had been put in a sleigh and drawn to some hiding place and that further search that night was useless. I am now going to retire, and trust to luck for Mac A'Rony's safe return to-morrow."
When I went to breakfast Christmas morning, I amused myself while my order was being filled by perusing the Schenectady "Daily Tantrims." You may imagine my astonishment upon reading the following:
GRAND OPENING
"Those who were not 'let in' to the private ball given at the new Canal Ice Rink on Christmas Eve by the Union boys who remained here over night to enjoy the Holidays, missed a rare and novel entertainment. It proved to be a side-splitting as well as an ice-breaking affair. Carefully laid plans were successfully carried out, and the diminutive donkey belonging to the quixotic traveler, Prof. Pythagoras Pod, became the guest of honor at the first rink party of the season. The jackass seemed to relish the sport immensely. Two pairs of skates were securely buckled on his feet and, declining the proffered assistance, at once the precocious tyro struck out in four several directions at once, coming down on the not over thick ice kothump! on his Antartic pole, deluging four propositions of Euclid, seven principles of unnatural philosophy, and three dozen young men and women.
All would have gone well had the jack not been so conceited. He, just like an ass, thought he knew it all. If he ever cut any ice in his life he did it then. Being of a generous disposition, he made ample accommodations for a crowd who, like his asinine self, came out for a skate and were hardly prepared for a baptism.
Pandemonium reigned. There were several narrow escapes from drowning; even Mac A'Rony barely averted a sublime decease, and bellowed like a freight engine. However, as he was the only donkey of the whole party that piloted himself to terra firma without assistance, he deserves much more praise than the fools that were so unwarrantably thoughtless as to imperil a hundred precious lives in their selfishness to have a good time at the expense of an humble beast.
As soon as the panic had subsided, a new rink was cleared further down the canal, where the Christmas fete was prolonged to a late hour. The terrified animal was here supported on two parallel bars held by strong men; and he promised to remain upright henceforth. To say the least, his frantic efforts to do the "pigeon wing" on the star-spangled firmament nearly capsized his pall-bearers. Guards had been posted at various points to apprise the practical jokers, if the donkey's master should come uninvited on the scene, but it seems that, by crafty, foxy methods, the Professor had been led by false scent to the suburbs. So the fun continued.
After the ball was over, Mac A'Rony was returned in safety to his stall. The little fellow appeared to be the nimbler from his cold-water plunge, and was so elated over his extraordinary exploits that he brayed all the way to his quarters."
As soon as I heard Mac I rushed out to the barn bare-headed, and threw my arms round his neck. I found the little fellow joyously rummaging in four huge stockings filled with corn bread, molasses cake, mince pie, carrots, and apple-sauce. "I had a h—l of a time last night," was all he said.
CHAPTER VI.
Mac held for ransom
Mac held for ransom
Yuletide afforded me few pleasures. How I was to bridge the gulf of penury and want of the Holiday season caused me much concern. Lacking the funds to pay my hotel and stable bills, I canvassed the town and sold a few pictures before church time. I wished to attend Christmas service, but lacked the nerve. My grotesque attire might have inspired the preacher.
I had worn holes in all my socks, and not having the price of a new pair, retired to my room to darn them. It was the first darning of that sort I ever did; when I had finished, I darned my luck, the hard times, and many things not down on the calendar. I pictured to my mind's eye the pleasures of Christmastide, of which I had cheated myself; but it was no time to brood over might-have-beens. I would start for the next town that morning. I felt a constant anxiety for Mac A'Rony's safety, and shouldn't feel easy until we were out of the college district.
We reached Amsterdam in time for Christmas dinner. I will not give the bill of fare; it wouldn't whet your appetite. The following day was almost as dull as Christmas. In the morning I was fortunate enough to receive in advance two dollars for distributing calendars to the farmers on my way to the next town, and employed the afternoon repairing saddle-bags.
The snow lay deep, the weather was windy and chill, and my donkey slower than axle grease; so I tarried over night and heard Sabbath bells.
Sunday evening saw us comfortably quartered in the little village of Fonda, a few miles' journey. While supping I learned that a German newspaper reporter, who claimed to be walking across the continent on a $750 wager, was a guest at another hotel. He came into town shortly after dark, and, unable to pay for a bed, was permitted to sleep on a bench, where my informant saw him. By the terms of his bet, the fellow was not allowed to beg, but could accept the earth, if offered him.
My sympathies were aroused, and I called on him after supper. He told his story, showed me papers, and a book signed by the railroad station agents on his route—for he had "hit the ties" all the way—and expressed much anxiety about covering the remaining 184 miles to New York in six days.
The young man looked emaciated, his shoes were literally worn out. His one meal that day had been a cup of coffee and a roll. He hadn't slept in a bed since leaving Detroit, where he earned his last money, five dollars. Pod's tender heart was touched. Although the more affluent donkey traveler possessed but a dollar and sixty cents, he gave his brother globe-trotter a dollar, a hot supper and bed, and would have paid for a stimulating drink had not the hotel-keeper been inspired to treat the two.
Next morning some commercial travelers, having learned of Pod's generosity, purchased a pair of shoes for the pedestrian. The delighted fellow departed at an early hour, expressing his sanguine belief that he would win his wager.
I had to hustle that morning to settle accounts, and it was eleven o'clock before Mac and I departed. I had only a nickel in pocket. That day we both went without lunch. It was long after dark and past supper time when we arrived in Fort Plain, and a half hour later before we reached the hotel. The town was illuminated with electric arc lights, which always throw vivid shadows, and Mac A'Rony had a desperate encounter with another donkey in the snow. He reared, and pitched, and cavorted, and bolted; he wound me up in the reins, and then bunked into me—I was in his way all the time—and finally rushed down a side street, dragging me after him. I had to lead the rampant animal through several unlighted streets round the village to get him to the stable. It was the first time I had presented myself at a strange hotel without my asinine credentials. When I registered, the incredulous proprietor went to the barn for Mac's own statement before believing me the famous man I claimed to be.
That evening a committee from the Bohemian Club invited me to a concert given under the auspices of the Fort Plain Band. I went, and enjoyed it. At its conclusion, I was asked to talk to a phonograph, the invention of the president of the Club. Having once addressed an audience of chairs, I could not object to talk to a funnel. I addressed the emptiness thereof with all the eloquence I could muster, then listened while the phonograph tried to repeat my words. It was simply awful. Had the machine been togged out in night shirt, mask and lighted candle, and shot off such a lingo in a dark alley, I should have thought it my own spook and fled in terror.
When I reached Little Falls my stock of photos was exhausted, and, but for a stroke of good luck, I fear I could not have paid my bills. Mac A'Rony agreed to carry a sign extolling the virtues of a one-price clothier, and that brought us a few dollars, which we divided.
It was late when we started for Herkimer, a town twelve miles away. The mud greatly impeded our progress and, suddenly, just before dark, when five miles to town, we came to a long, covered, wooden bridge. Then there was trouble. Mac obstinately refused to enter the dark tunnel. I coaxed him with an apple to follow me; I prodded him; I turned him about and tried to back him through; but he would not budge. I went behind and pushed him; and vexed beyond reason, I finally whipped him; all without avail. What could I do? I sat down and thought. No sound of an approaching vehicle greeted my ear, but I saw a house down the road. I decided to hitch my obdurate beast to the fence and seek assistance. As I approached the house the seductive aroma of frying steak told me it was supper hour. In response to my knock a rural-looking man came out and eyed me curiously, while chewing vigorously. Indoors I could hear somebody drinking out of a saucer.
"Excuse me for interrupting," I said politely; "but my jackass——"
"Yer what?"
"My jackass! I am bound for California with one, and am stuck out there by the bridge. I came to ask your assistance." The man swallowed.
"In a hole, eh? Wall, I reckon you've come ter th' right place fer help."
"No, I'm not in a hole exactly—that's just the trouble. My animal abhors holes; he refuses to enter the covered bridge."
"Wall, I swan! can't yer lick him through?" the farmer asked.
"As impossible," said I, "as to lick a camel through the eye of a needle."
"I want ter know. Come in," he said; and turning to the hired man, added, "John, let's give th' feller a lift."
The men donned wraps and boots, and, with an old wheelbarrow, followed me down the slushy road to the beastly eye-sore of my existence.
To describe our efforts to get that donkey through the bridge would tire you as much as those efforts tired me. Mac squirmed and kicked and bit; he would not be carried by hand; so the wheelbarrow was employed. He was too large for the vehicle, and lapped over the edges. We consumed a half hour in the gigantic task of wheeling Mac across that bridge.
"By gum, young feller!" exclaimed the exhausted farmer, as he dropped the heavy live weight. "Do yer haster go through this kind of business every bridge yer come ter?" I explained that I usually met with difficulties at bridges, but had never encountered a covered one before. Then I thanked the good Samaritans for their kindness, and prodded Mac to town.
We arrived in Herkimer late. Directly after supper I canvassed the stores, and worked till ten o'clock selling pictures.
We seemed to create quite a sensation. When about to retire, I learned that my donkey was stolen; I was told local bandits held him for ransom. I was greatly provoked, and rushed about the streets, making inquiries until, at length, a street loafer whispered that he would tell me where my animal was, if I "would blow him to a drink." I agreed. Then the man "in the know" piloted me to a bar-room several blocks away, where I was astonished to find the captive drinking with several other jackasses. He was the only one not disconcerted by my appearance, and even had the audacity to stick his nose up at the bar-keeper and bray.
I engaged men to assist me convey the inebriate to the stable as quickly as possible, and ordered an extra padlock to be snapped on the door. Next morning I found my partner in a surprisingly sober condition.
Resuming my pilgrimage, I made brief stops at Ilion and Frankfort, and arrived in Utica shortly after dark on the last day of the leap year. The hotel corridors swarmed with inquisitive guests who had been apprised of my coming. The jovial proprietor gave us a hearty welcome, and, ordering several porters to lead Mac into the office, called loudly, to the amusement of all, "Front! Give the donkeys the best double room in the house."
"Slow traveling for a leap year," I remarked to the clerk.
"Oh, that reminds me, Mr. Pod," said he; "here's a letter for you—just came a few minutes ago."
I settled my weary frame in a rocker and read it. It was actually an invitation to a Leap Year Ball, given under the auspices of the society girls of Manicure Hall. The card was printed, but on its margin were inscribed in a purely feminine hand a few choice words urging me to come in my traveling habit. It struck me that it might be my only chance to get engaged for eight long years, so I washed and brushed and polished, and turned up at the ball-room at a late but nevertheless fashionable hour.
The ball was the most brilliant function it had been my pleasure to attend since the days of my freedom. Caesar! what charming girls! Were they really charming! or was it because I had been a recluse so long that most anybody wearing dresses fascinated my starved optics? Before advancing a rod into the hall, I received a proposal; within an hour I had a dozen. The dance, the supper, the defective lights, and the kisses in the dark, the midnight alarm, and the New Year's bells, all fulfilled their offices delightfully in turn—all, except the leave-taking of the old year, which groaned over the effects of bad salad, and gave up the ghost.
I devoted the afternoon to a delightful nap; I was worn out. Saturday I called upon the genial Mayor, who paid me liberally for a photo and subscribed to my donkey book. Sunday I set out with Mac for Rome.
I was told all the roads were in bad condition, and was advised to take the tow-path of the Erie Canal. After two hours of tramping and groping in the darkness, we came to a suburban street; soon after I was directed to a tavern, and quartered myself for the night.
A number of commercial men had prophesied I would not make my expenses in Rome, but I did. It was an all-day job, however, and another night was fairly upon me before I started for Oneida, sixteen miles away.
We had not gone far, when we came to an old-fashioned toll-gate, where I expected to be made to contribute to the county's good-road fund. I felt loath to do so, for nowhere else on my journey had we found the highway in such a disreputable condition. I told Mac to keep his mouth shut, and we stealthily walked through the gate, hoping not to be observed; but no sooner done than the keeper issued from his shanty and welcomed me back. He wished to talk with me, he said. His boy had preceded me from town and given his father glowing accounts of the donkey traveler. So interested were the toll-gate keeper and his family in the welfare of Pod and Mac that they not only waived the toll, but gave us a pressing invitation to remain with them over night. The generosity of that man's big, honest heart stood out in such happy contrast with the miserly county administration and my own penury that I gratified the man's desire, in a measure, and hitching Mac A'Rony, followed my host into his dwelling, where I allowed myself to share his frugal board. It was certainly such a home where either a Don Quixote or a Pythagoras Pod might feel himself a distinguished guest. The wife brewed tea, and spread the table with black bread and doubtfully wholesome cakes, while the children climbed on my knees and heard with rapture my tales of adventure.
When it was time to go the keeper, having learned from his son that I sold the pictures "to live on," begged me with tears to accept a quarter for the one I gave him, saying that he had a fair-sized garden besides the pittance he received for performing the duties of his humble office, whereas I had to depend on Providence for the keeping of myself and comrade on our long trip "round the world."
So Mac and I, thanking the good people for their kindnesses—for Mac's ever-acute appetite had not been overlooked by the thoughtful hostess—strode on in mud and darkness, slipping, spattering, and mumbling unintelligible and impolite words, and hoping against hope soon to arrive at some comfortable haven of rest.
A mile beyond we were greeted with loud applause issuing from a huge building to our left, which I took to be a girl's seminary, but which Mac insisted was a slaughter house. To be distinguished in the dark and tendered such an ovation quite tickled my vanity; but my less-conceited partner only brayed and trembled in the fear of being chased by a mad pig with its throat cut. When we had passed to a safe distance, I met a farmer in a wagon, and asked him the name of the illuminated building.
"The Rome State Insane Asylum," said the man.
At length, a dense mist gathered; then it began to sprinkle. I could scarcely distinguish Mac in the darkness. The road was tortuous, one vast river bed of mud, as untenable as quicksand. We first ran against a barbed-wire fence on one side, and a rail fence on the other, and finally, I plunged over boot-tops in a sluice, and might have drowned had I not held the reins and been pulled out by my unintentionally heroic comrade. My boots were new and didn't leak, and the mud and water remained in them.
If ever there was a moment on that overland "voyage" when I felt in prime condition to give it up, it was there and then. Still we struggled onward, and a few hundred yards ahead I discovered the faint light of a farm house, where I stopped to ask the distance to the next place we could secure shelter.
"'Bout four mile, I should jedge," said the farmer. I guessed as much, but it gave me a chance to sigh.
"Mercy! None nearer?" Just then Mac coughed, and approached.
"Nope. But wait! Be you the gentleman bound fer 'Frisco with a mule?"
"Verily so," I returned, while my partner brayed indignantly at being called a mule.
"Wall, what's it wuth to take you both in fer the night and feed ye?" the man asked, avariciously.
"Oh, about seventy-five cents."
"Come back," said he; "I just walked from the railroad station a mile and a half in the mud, and lost my overshoes, and kin sympathize with ye."
My donkey was comfortably stabled, watered and fed, and I ushered into a cozy room, where my host brought me dry garments and slippers, and gave me a hot supper. Truly, I thought, the darkest hour is just before dawn.
CHAPTER VII.
I mop the hotel floor
I mop the hotel floor
Having the funds to tide over a couple of days, I set out early next morning for Syracuse. At 11:00 P. M. we tramped tired and foot-sore into the village of Fayetteville, having traveled twenty miles, the longest day's journey yet made.
My donkey was fagged out. The stable men could hardly get him into his stall; but Mac had great recuperative power, and was so frisky in the morning that we resumed the march to the Salt City. It was still some distance to the city when an incident happened to mar the pleasure of our peaceful walk. In passing a large dairy farm, Mac's grotesque figure excited either the admiration or the contempt of an ugly-looking bull, which left a small bunch of cattle in the field and trotted along the dilapidated fence. His actions were frightfully menacing, and I urged Mac to a faster gait. Suddenly the bull broke through the fence, bellowing, and made for us, head down.
My first thought was to save Mac's life. The leather-rimmed goggles he wore placed him at a disadvantage, aside from the fact that the road was icy and denied us a secure footing. Then, too, Mac carried seventy-five pounds burden, including my grip, the saddle and rifle. I was wholly unprepared for the bull; my revolver was unloaded, I having made it a rule to withdraw the cartridges every morning. As the brute lunged at my donkey, I struck Mac with my whip and wheeled him about with the reins in time to dodge the enemy. Recovering himself, the enraged bull made another lunge at my spry partner, and still another, the third time scraping off a tuft of hair with one of his horns. I could only assist Mac with the reins while striking the bull over the face with the cutting rawhide. I yelled for help. A quarter mile away stood a farm house, and in front of it two men gawking at our "circus," indifferent to our peril.
I never was more active than during those awful moments; Mac afterward said he never was so busy in all his life. So rapidly did we three pirouette, the bull after Mac, the donkey after me, and I after the bull, that the two human statues in the distance must have taxed their optics to distinguish which was which. So dizzy did I become that I wheeled Mac round and started in the opposite direction, the enemy bellowing, I calling, and the donkey braying to beat a fire-boat whistle. Finally, I heard the glad sound of approaching wheels from up the road, and at a glance saw a horse and buggy. As it came nearer, I distinguished a woman driving, and my heart sank. Surely she would not have the courage to venture into our very midst; she must soon turn round. A man might drive to our aid.
Still we three kept busy, until the rig wheeled down upon us, the prancing horse so distracting the bull that he shied to the opposite side, and, forgetting us, set out on a trot after the receding vehicle, lowing vexatiously. I held my breath. Soon we collected our senses and hustled on until the enemy was lost to view. There are many who would call our rescue a marvel; Mac said it was just our "luck;" but I thought it miraculous.
A prominent hotel in Syracuse welcomed me as its honored guest, and crowds cheered us to the door. I had consumed six weeks traveling from New York, a distance of 340 miles, although by rail the mileage shrinks to 303.
It was Friday, January 8. I was tendered a private box at the theatre that evening, and the following day Mac and I appeared on the stage between acts, at both the matinee and evening performances, I receiving five dollars for each appearance. Saturday I devoted to business; and was invited to the Elks' entertainment in the evening. At noon on Monday we headed for Auburn.
A heavy snow accompanied a fall of the mercury. Great drifts had formed during the night, reaching anywhere from inches to feet, and from yard to yard. My spirits were low. The first eight miles to Camillus were covered in four hours. After a good rest and poor fodder, we strode on over the white and solitary road seven more miles to Elbridge, where, at eight o'clock, I registered at a cozy hostelry, and ordered that Mac be cared for and my supper at once be prepared. Then I hastened to canvass the stores, disposing of three photos at fifteen cents apiece. My over-night expenses would be a dollar and a half; I lacked forty-five cents of the amount. But that did not disconcert me. The hotel was composed of bricks, and its proprietor was one of them: a jovial Grand Army man who wore a big soft hat, and a blue coat with brass buttons. His cranium was chock full of entertaining reminiscence, too.
At that time, men were engaged with mule-teams hauling stone for repairing the canal, and the hotel was filled with an incongruous lot of teamsters and laborers. Judging by their roguish remarks, it would be wise of me to place my donkey under lock and key; but when I hinted it to my host, he assured me my fears were unwarranted.
I was assigned a large chamber on the main floor, next to the dining room. There was no lock to the door; I complained about it. "Nobody will molest you," said my host. I soon fell to sleep. Long before daylight I was awakened by the juggling of plates and cutlery, and the racking of a stove. It was impossible to sleep during such a hubub, so I proposed to smoke. Rising from bed and groping in darkness, I hunted for the electric light button hanging from the ceiling, but had proceeded only a few steps when, suddenly, I fell headlong over a huge, hairy substance, which moved and yawned.
Hamlet's ghost! Was this really midwinter's night dream? I sat on the floor for a moment to set my dislocated big toe on the off foot, then staggered timorously to my feet, found the cord, and turned on the light. Could I believe my eyes? There lay Mac A'Rony. He gazed at me in mute bewilderment and blinked like an owl, then presently rose to the occasion, brayed, and charged at the donkey in the mirror. It was enough to awaken the whole village when the excited animal rushed around the room with the mirror frame for a collar, vaulting chairs, bed, and table, and exerting his best efforts to kick holes in the walls and ceiling.
"What in damnation is the racket!" yelled the proprietor, as he came running to my room. I thought to disarm him by being the first to complain, for I expected some harsh invectives to be hurled my way.
"You said I should not be molested!" I said indignantly, standing on a mantle shelf in my night shirt.
"Well! It's the first time my house was ever turned into a stable," retorted the erstwhile jovial Grand Army man.
"And it's the first time I ever was made to room with a jackass," I returned, in a rage.
By this time Mac had stuck a foot in the frame-collar in trying to clear the stove, and had fallen. I quickly leaped from my perch, and my now more conciliating host helped to disengage the beast from his wooden harness, and give him a forcible exit. Then we dressed, and set to work clearing the room. Of course, the cook rushed in to have her say; otherwise, that hotel was suspiciously quiet, considering what had happened.
When I went to breakfast the landlord met me with a smile; it surprised and pleased me. I concluded that the practical jokers had settled everything to his satisfaction. My table mates were unusually uncommunicative; their conversation hung mournfully on the weather. My breakfast finished, I went to my host and informed him of the state of my finances.
"Two mule-drivers were discharged last night," he observed. "I could have got you a job if you had told me in time."
Right here an aged townsman came in, stamping the snow off his boots, unwound a great tippet from his neck, and regarding the clay-besmeared floor, delivered his opinion to the landlord.
"Gol blast me! If I run a house a lookin' like this, I'd close up and go out of the business," the granger remarked, with a critical eye to the floor and a wink at me.
"I agree with you," said I; "Price ought to pay a quarter to have the floor cleaned.
"It would be worth twice that sum to me to see you clean it," he returned, humorously.
"It's a bargain!" so saying, I pulled off my coat, and called for a mop and a pail of hot water.
The landlord seemed to regard the incident as a good joke; so did Pye Pod. Rolling up my trousers and shirt sleeves, I fell to work. The old man fled to spread the news, as soon as he saw I was in earnest. My first sweep with the old mop shattered it; the landlord lost no time procuring a new one. Then I went at it as though it were my special line of trade, and so deeply absorbed was I in the novel undertaking that less than half of the population of the village filed into the room without my comment. There were men and women, young and old and middling, and children bound for school; all around, backing against the walls and windows, commenting, laughing, and joking; while I just mopped, and with new jokes helped make merry, for I felt that was an experience of a lifetime for all of us.
A pretty girl snapped a kodak at me; she took fifteen orders for pictures within a minute. I was gratified to see all enjoy themselves. Still I kept mopping, and watched the clock to see how much time was left before school. My time was coming; I wanted everybody to hear my story. They didn't know a thing about me or Mac A'Rony, except through newspaper reports, which are not always reliable. Finally, I dropped my mop and straightened up to rest my lame back.
"Does that suit you?" I asked the landlord.
"A handsomer job was never done this floor," said he; "you have earned your money."
Every one evidently wished to see me paid. As I received the cash, I whispered to my host to hand me the key to the door, expressing my purpose with a sly wink, which he hardly interpreted. The silver jingled with the brass in my hands, and I went to the door and locked it. Then walking to the desk, I turned, faced my audience without a blush, bowed low, and said:
"Ladies and gentlemen, and children of Elbridge;" then gave a brief account of my travels from New York. My words pleased, and were greeted with laughter. But they had not heard my peroration.
"We rarely appreciate anything that costs us nothing," I began my conclusion. "In New York, a show such as I have just provided would cost at least a dollar and a half for orchestra chairs and fifty cents for the family circle; this seems to be the family circle. Now, to save the bother of printing tickets and posters, we admitted you to the show without delaying you at the door in the frosty air, and one and all, old and young, must pay me five cents before you leave this room. The door is locked, and I hold the key. Those of you ladies who left your purses on the piano can borrow of your gentlemen friends, who, doubtless, will be ready to help you out of your dilemma. Some of you may demur, and complain of hard times, but said excuses will not hold with me; I carry hard times with me whither I go on my long journey, whereas you have yours only in one place. As soon as all have paid me, the door will be unlocked, and not until. I thank you for your unsolicited audience, and trust that the next time we meet the circumstances will be as happy for us all as they have been this January morning."
My speech must have been forceful, for the nickels poured into my hat. As each individual paid I motioned him or her to the opposite side of the room, to guard against humbugging. The landlord had to come to the financial relief of a few, but the door was opened in time for school, and everybody departed with evident good feeling.
My host was the most astonished of all, and, with a hearty grip of the hand, predicted that I would reach my destination. Without delay I settled my account with him, saddled Mac A'Rony, and with $2.80 to the good started for Auburn. The last denizen of the village to bid me God-speed was the philanthropist who unwittingly procured me my "bill" for the hotel show, and then filled my purse for me.
CHAPTER VIII.
Footpads fire upon us
Footpads fire upon us
Soon after reaching Auburn, I received a theatre manager who called to engage Mac and me to appear at the Opera House. We signed with him, and the first evening we made such a decided hit that we were engaged for a re-appearance; I received ten dollars for both performances and the privilege to sell photos at the door, which netted me a considerable sum.
Auburn is the seat of a State Prison and a Theological Seminary. Avoiding the former, I set out to visit the seminary. The students were cordial, and showed me about the buildings, among them being Willard Chapel, which they called the handsomest in America.
I was unable to leave until just before noon. Tramping without dinner went against the donkey's grain even more literally than it did mine. About 2 o'clock I was passing through Aurelius, when a farmer invited me to take lunch with him. I accepted, and enjoyed the repast and the visit with the hospitable agriculturist and his wife. He gave me a card to a California friend, and hoped I would visit him and present his regards. This pleasant delay upset my calculations; I did not reach Cayuga until dusk.
The lake was frozen, but the sun had somewhat melted the ice during the past two days. I was cautioned not to venture across with the donkey, for, if he should slip, both of us would go through the ice. This was a great disappointment, for it compelled me to follow the tow-path some five miles round the edge of the lake through the dreaded Montezuma Swamp, in order to reach Seneca Falls. It was long after dark when we left the swamp and entered the shadow of a rocky ridge. A half mile further, I discerned the distant electric lights of the town. To our left was the canal, and to the right, the rocky barrier, while ahead, beside the tow-path, shone an arc light suspended from one of several poles which extended in a line to town.
I was tramping along at Mac's head when, suddenly, a man stepped from behind the pole and ordered me to throw up my hands. Although excited, I still had the presence of mind to jump behind my donkey. Instantly the highwayman fired at me. Then I fired to show I was armed and ready to defend myself; and at once a shot came from the rocks, a little to my rear. Turning my head, I saw what appeared to be a cave, where presumably the second man was hiding. But just as I turned my head, a second shot from the man in front knocked off my plug hat; and then came a shot from the rocks. Now, fully realizing my peril between two fires, I aimed my revolver at the man in the road some thirty feet away, and fired to cripple him. I apparently succeeded, for the fellow cried, "God! I'm hit!" and fell in the snow-covered road, resting on one elbow, and pressing his hand to his right breast.
Not sure, however, that the man was not feigning, I shot into the cave, from which at once issued the other footpad, who ran down the tow-path. Then I picked up my hat and passed by the prostrate man, keeping my revolver trained upon him, and hurried on toward Seneca Falls.
A quarter of a mile beyond I came to Lock House No. 6. My story greatly excited the quiet household. Hibbard, the keeper, with a lantern helped me examine Mac to see if he was wounded; then we were generously cared for. After drinking a cup of tea and toasting my feet awhile at the fire, I made my departure.
On reaching Seneca Falls, I called on the chief of police; he being absent, I saw the Mayor, who told me that I did only my duty by shooting in self-defense. Then I went back to the hotel where, in the crowd of excited people anxious to hear my story, were reporters eager to gather the facts of the affair.
Next day Hibbard reported that at 2 o'clock in the morning he had heard a buggy pass his house toward the scene of the shooting, and, although he laid awake until daylight, did not hear it return. He said it was the first vehicle in years to traverse the tow-path at such a late hour, and believed the injured footpad had been rescued by his confederate and driven away.
After lunch I left for Waterloo, where I found its main thoroughfare so choked with people to see me that I could not get Mac through. They hailed me as a hero, and shouted my name and Mac's until they were hoarse, and purchased all my photographs at twice the regular price. Finally, we resumed our journey, and arrived in Geneva long after dark.
Geneva is the seat of Hobart College. One of the societies invited me to a spread at its fraternity house; and, while I was there, Mac was stolen from the stable, of which I was not informed until evening. In view of the fact that a cow had recently been lodged in the college library, I shouldered my Winchester and set out on the war-path after breakfast, accompanied by the Chief of the Fire Department.
We had searched the dormitories and cellars of the college buildings and were going to the gymnasium, when I discovered Mac standing in the snow, eating thistles. It had been a cold and stormy night; he was covered with snow, and icicles hung from his under jaw. Yet the donkey uttered no complaint, merely saying, "The boys didn't do a thing to me last night." I learned from a professor that Mac had been found in a recitation room describing impossible theorems and eating chalk, and that the janitor and two professors had their hands full carrying the donkey down two staircases and out of doors.
Although it was biting cold and the mercury had fallen to the zero point, I could not afford to tarry longer. After lunch we set out in a blinding snow-storm and tramped on to Phelps, where we stopped for supper and an hour's rest. At first Mac had shown no ill-effects of his recent exposure, but now he coughed. Having made but eight miles that day, I resolved to brave the storm four miles further, and reached Clifton Springs at ten o'clock. There I obtained comfortable lodgings for myself and partner.
Next day the venerable director of the Sanitarium invited me to be his guest, and kindly permitted me to lecture to the patients of his fashionable hostelry for a silver offering. Of course, I accepted. My "heart to heart" talk seemed to tickle the large audience, but when the porter brought back my hat with only two dollars in it I was disappointed. I had expected a contribution commensurate with the encores. When I paid the porter 25 cents for his services, I dropped my spectacles and broke the glasses. A new pair would cost me $1.75. That made accounts even.
"Reminds me of the colored preacher," observed the director with good humor; "somebody passed his hat to the congregation and returned it empty. 'Well,' said the parson, 'I'm thankful to de Lawd to get my hat back." The story was apt, but it did not console me.
While at the Sanitarium I sold many photographs, and judging the patients to be affluent, doubled the regular price. Before our departure, Mac showed symptoms of rheumatism. A doctor suggested that an electri-thermal bath would make a new animal of him. "It won't cost you a cent," said he. I arranged for the treatment at once. It required several attendants to get the fellow in the electric chair, where they secured him with straps; and then the doctor administered the electricity. While the electric wand was rubbed over his legs and body, the frightened donkey brayed and twisted and squirmed, and threatened to upset the chair, causing much merriment.
Well, Mac's professional treatment made him a new donkey. He traveled more quickly than ever before, and almost out-tramped his master.
Near the Springs is a farm-house where resided, at that time, a sister of Stephen A. Douglas. I called to see her, and was cordially received. She was 86 years of age, her left arm paralyzed, and her eyesight very dim.
Tramping on, we came to Shortsville, where we stopped for dinner. Supper was eaten at Victor, and at eight, Mac and I set out for Pittsford, the wind and snow blowing furiously in our faces. The night was intensely dark. Somewhere past ten, I passed two tramps on the highway, but only they and the passing trains broke the monotony of the journey.
It must have been eleven when the road joined another at right angles; I was puzzled then whether to turn to the left or to the right. I stamped my half frozen feet, as we halted in the biting wind until, presently, through the falling snow, I saw a distant light, and hurried for it. Farmers usually retired early; but on arriving at the cozy house, I found a party of young people dancing, playing cards, and eating refreshments. A kind-faced woman greeted me at the door, and asked me in. When I introduced myself, and inquired my way, the astonishment of the whole party told me plainly I was considered an honored guest, transient indeed though I was.
"Well, I declare, we've read about you lots;" said the hostess. "Won't you sit down and have some ice cream and cake?"
"I smell coffee," I remarked, frankly; "if I may be treated to a little of that, I shall be grateful; but as for ice cream, I feel it a little unseasonable this evening. And as I rubbed my ears vigorously, the girls laughed and said, Ain't he plucky!"
It was hard, indeed, to break away from this jolly party; I don't know how long I should have tarried if Mac had not called to me. His bray was the signal for a stampede to the porch; all forgot refreshments and dancing in their eagerness to see the famous donkey. They simply lionized him. The girls carried cake and pie and ice cream to him, and one offered him a fried egg, which he declined. When we said our adieux the shivering group gave us a hearty cheer and God-speed, then rushed indoors, leaving the dejected pilgrims to the cold consolation of the snow, wind and darkness of a winter's night.
CHAPTER IX.
In a haymow below zero
In a haymow below zero
Having been directed on the road to Pittsford, a town seven miles beyond, we tramped wearily on, battling with the elements as best we could until midnight, when almost numb with cold, I resolved to seek refuge in a small hamlet we were nearing, called Bushnell Basin. I was told it contained a tavern which would accommodate us, in an emergency. But it was so dark when we reached Bushnell that I could not see the Basin. Its dozen dusky-looking shanties seemed to be deserted, and when I saw a boy crossing the road I was too surprised to hail him. Mac brayed, and the lad stopped. I asked him where the hotel was. He directed me toward a dim light, and disappeared. We pushed on, but the light was extinguished before we could reach the house. I called loudly to the landlord to let me in; I rapped on the door desperately, and repeated my yells. A dog in the house barked savagely; then Mac began to bray, and I wondered that nobody entered a protest against such a disturbance. At length, a squeaky female voice called from an upstairs window:
"Who be ye?"
"A man," I answered, civilly.
"What kind of a man?"
"A gentleman," I said, with emphasis.
"What's that thing yer got with ye?"
I was afraid she'd catch cold in the opened window, if she was in her nightdress, but I replied in a voice of a siren, "A jackass."
"Can't let ye in—no room for shows here—next town," fell the frozen words on my benumbed ears.
Then the woman sneezed, and closed the window. Mac A'Rony seemed to comprehend the situation, but offered no remedy. I would have covered the three miles to Pittsford, but the donkey was fagged out, and could barely drag his legs. Where were we to find shelter at such a time and place?
Retracing our steps a short distance, I caught the sound of pounding, as of a hammer. Soon I heard the sawing of a board, and the saw's enraged voice when it struck a knot. Saved! I thought, as I walked in the direction whence the sound emanated. The snow lay ten inches deep; old Boreas shook the trees, and whistled round the quivering hovels; and I was so chilled and vexed that, if another person had dared to ask me what kind of a man I was, I would have measured somebody for a coffin.
Finally, I came to the house, through whose window I discerned a lighted candle in a back room. I rapped on the door. The sawing continued; so did my rapping. Then the sawing ceased, and the door was opened by a swarthy, heavy bearded man who extended me a kindly "Good evenin'." I introduced myself, and pleaded my case.
"Come in where it's warm," he said; and following him to the stove, I explained my situation.
"We ain't got much accommodation for ye," he apologized, "but I can't leave ye and yer pet out in the cold. This is my wife," and the man introduced me. Then he censured the landlady of the tavern for not admitting me, saying she ought to have her license revoked, "If you'd been a loafing vagabond and drunkard, she'd taken ye in quick enough," said my sympathetic host; "but as ye was a gentleman she was embarrassed to know how to treat ye." From which I gathered that he did know how, and would prove it. He explained that the front part of the building was a store; the rear portion was divided into two small rooms,—a kitchen and a sleeping room. The second floor was utilized as a hay-loft, wherein was stored Hungarian hay for his horse, which he said he kept "in a shed 'cross the road yonder."
"Now, if ye'll lend me a hand," he suggested, "we'll make room for yer mule in the shed, and my wife'll get ye something to eat. Then we'll see where we kin tuck ye comfortable till mornin'."
I pulled on my mittens and followed the man into the biting wind with a warmer and cheerier heart, and, acquainting Mac with the good news, proceeded to assist my host to transfer a huge woodpile in order to obtain the side of a hen roost lying underneath it, with which to construct a partition in the shed to preserve peace between horse and donkey.
By one o'clock Mac was stabled and I in prime condition to enjoy any kind of a meal. The good wife had fried me three eggs, and brewed me a pot of tea, and sawed off several slices of home-made bread, for which I blessed her in my heart and paid her a compliment by eating it all.
The repast over, I chatted a while with my friends and smoked; then said if they were ready to retire, I was. A roughly made staircase reached from the kitchen floor over the cook-stove to a trap-door in the ceiling, and up those stairs I followed my host, he with candle in hand, I with a quilt which I feared the kind people had robbed from their own bed. Great gaps yawned in the roof and sides of the loft, through which the wind whistled coldly. The hay was covered with snow in places and the thermometer must have been far below zero. But I stuck my legs in the hay, and pulled a woolen nightshirt over my traveling clothes, and tucked the quilt round my body, and put on my hat and earlaps, and soon was as snug as a bug in a rug, and slept soundly.
I arose early with the family, joined them at breakfast, paid my host liberally, and started with Mac for Pittsford. There we were welcomed by a party of young men who had expected to give us a fitting reception the evening before. They claimed that, had they known where we were, they would have rescued us with a bob-sleigh. I did not tarry with them, but tramped on to Rochester, and arrived there at 3:30 P. M., having covered thirty-five miles since the previous morning.
We spent two days in the Flour City. An old business acquaintance arranged for Mac A'Rony to pose in the show window of a clothing store, for which I received five dollars. Although it was dreadfully cold and the wind blew a gale, Mac attracted every pedestrian on the street.
I called on "Rattlesnake Pete," the proprietor of a well-known curiosity shop, who wanted to buy my bullet-riddled hat, but I declined to part with it at any reasonable price; then I called on the Mayor. He received me cordially, laughed when I related my adventures, and subscribed to my book.
Rochester is the seat of a Theological Seminary, and several breweries. Near by is the celebrated Genesee Falls, where Sam Patch leaped to his death. Many old friends called on me during my sojourn, among them a physician, who gave me a neat little case of medicines, such as he believed would be most needed in emergency on such a journey; and while being entertained at a club, I was presented with a fine sombrero.
In spite of the frigid gale which had been raging three days, and of the dire predictions of the Western Union bulletins, I started with Mac for Spencerport at 12:30, right after lunch. The village lay twelve miles distant. The biting wind swept across the level meadows, laden with icy dust from the frozen crust of the snow, and cut into our faces. Five times were Mac and I welcomed into houses to warm, but we reached the village an hour and a half after dark with only my ears frost-bitten, and soon were comfortably quartered for the night. Next morning we started for Brockport, eight miles further on, by the tow-path, which we followed.
The wind was blowing forty miles an hour, and the mercury fell below zero. Every now and then we had to turn our backs to the gale to catch our breath. Mac's face was literally encased in ice; I rubbed my ears and cheeks constantly to prevent their freezing. Only two or three sleighs were out, and the drivers of these were wrapped so thoroughly in robes and mufflers that I could not distinguish male from female. Still determined not to retreat to town, I urged my little thoroughbred on, and soon we were called into a house and permitted to thaw out.
On this occasion Mac, to his own astonishment, as well as that of the kind lady of the house, stuck his frosted snoot into a pot of boiling beans on the stove, for which unprecedented behavior I duly apologized.
Eight more times both of us were taken into hospitable homes and inns to warm before reaching Brockport at eight in the evening, more dead than alive. My nose and ears were now frost-bitten. The towns-people, hearing of our arrival, flocked into the hotel to chat with me, or went to the stable to see Mac A'Rony.
Wednesday I resumed the journey, resolved that nothing save physical incapacity should deter me; now was the time to harden myself to exposure, and prepare me for greater trials later on. But before leaving, I purchased a small hand-sled, and improvised rope-traces by which Mac could draw my luggage instead of carrying it. Besides, this novel sort of vehicle would attract attention; I realized that we must depend for a living more upon sensation than upon our virtues. The next thing essential was a collar for the donkey, and I had to make it. But to make the stubborn beast understand I wished him to draw the sled, that he wasn't hitched to stand, was the greatest difficulty I had. Finally, he caught on, and marched along through the streets quite respectably.
Beyond the town we met with some deep snowdrifts lying across the road, and Mac's little legs would get stuck, or he would pretend they were, and I would have to dig the fellow out with my rifle. Again, while leading the stubborn animal in order to make better time in the opposing wind, I would suddenly hear a grating, scraping sound to the rear, and looking around would find the sled overturned with its burden. After several such upsets, I cut a bough from a tree, whittled a toothpick point to it, and prodded Mac to proper speed, while I walked behind and with a string steadied the top-heavy load of freight. Then, this difficulty remedied, Mac, with seeming rascality, would cross and recross the ridge of ice and snow in the center of the road, as if he couldn't make up his mind which of the beaten tracks to follow, or disliked the monotony of a single trail, every time upsetting the sled. During that long and frigid day's tramp but one human being passed me, and he was in a sleigh. He recognized my outfit, for he called to me encouragingly, "Stick to it, Pod; you'll win yet!"
Late in the afternoon a man hailed me from the door of a farm-house, "Come in and warm, and have a drink of cider." Now, if there was one thing in the world that tickled my palate, it was sweet cider, and I accepted a glass.
"Wouldn't your pard have a drink?" asked the generous man.
"Presume he would, if you offered it," I replied. "I never knew him to refuse any kind of a beverage, though this cider is pretty hard."
The farmer brought out a milk-pan; and that donkey drained the pan.
"Shall I give him some more?" asked the big-hearted soul. Mac stuck out his nose in mute response, so I said yes, provided he would not be robbing himself; it would probably put new vigor in the fatigued animal, and super-induce more speed.
"Got barrels of it, friend, barrels of it," said the Good Samaritan, who refilled the pan which Mac again drained. Then thanking the farmer, I steered my donkey on over the ice-bound highway.
We had not proceeded a mile when I observed that Mac did not walk as firmly as he had; his course was decidedly zig-zag. Finally I left my station at the sled and guided him by the bit. Now he staggered more than ever; then it dawned on me that the cider had gone to his head. In less than five minutes more I regretted having met that liberal-hearted farmer, possessing barrels of hard cider. Suddenly the drunken donkey fell down in the snow, and, instead of attempting to rise, he tried to stand on his head. Not succeeding in that, he made an effort to sit up, and toppled over backwards. All this time he brayed ecstatically, as if in the seventh heaven. Next he began to roll, and tangled himself in the rope traces, and tumbled the sled and gladstone bag about the snow as though it were rubbish. Fearing lest he would break my rifle and cameras, I tried to unbuckle them from the saddle while the scapegrace was in the throes of delirium tremens, and got tangled up with him in the ropes. In trying to free myself, I was accidentally kicked over in the snow. And in that ridiculous and awkward fix I was found by a jovial farmer, who drove up in a sleigh. He soon helped me out of my scrape, and laughed me into good humor, kindly consenting to take charge of my luggage and send a bob-sleigh after the drunkard as soon as he reached his house, a mile beyond.
There I waited for the relief committee and the wrecking sleigh to arrive. To say I was the maddest of mortals doesn't half express it. At length two strong men with my help succeeded in depositing Mac on the bob; and he was conveyed to the barn and there placed behind the bars, bedded and fed, and left to sober up, while I, his outraged master, was hospitably entertained over night by my charitable benefactor.
We were now at Rich's Corners, some four miles from Albion. My good host provided me with such warm apparel as I hadn't with me, and when bed-time came, I was trundled into a downy bed where I dreamed all night about drunken jackasses.
By breakfast time I had recovered my good spirits. I insisted on baking the buckwheat cakes, and not until all the family were apparently filled with the flapjacks which I tossed in the air to their amusement did I sit down to the table to eat.
Breakfast over, I joined my host in a smoke, then donned my wraps for the day's journey. When we men returned from the barn with the reformed donkey, a number of the neighboring farmers had assembled with their families on the porch to see the overland pilgrims. I snapped my camera on the group, said "Go on, Mac," to my remorseful partner, and soon was plodding toward Albion.
CHAPTER X.
An asinine snowball
An asinine snowball
We did not reach Albion until noon. So numerous were the snow-drifts that we made only a mile an hour. Old Boreas might have been a little more considerate and brushed the snow along the fences instead of piling it across our path. That morning I dug Mac out of a dozen snow-drifts.
Albion looked to be a pretty place. Besides many attractive homes, it possesses the celebrated Pullman Memorial Church, a High School, and a woman's reformatory. But I did not visit those interesting places. Being a high churchman, the church was too low for me; not being up in the classics, the high school was too high for me; and believing women to be terrestrial angels, I did not wish to be convinced that my judgment was wrong by investigating a female reformatory. I put up at a comfortable hotel, where I was told that the relentless storm would likely imprison me several days, and found cozy quarters for Mac A'Rony. The day after my arrival, a neighboring farmer took me sleigh-riding into the country to dine with him and his mother, his fleet horse having once conveyed him and his father from Dakota to Albion, 1,600 miles, in thirty-six days. When I told Mac about it, he turned a deaf ear, lay down, and groaned a groan of incredulity. Ex-Consul Dean Currie invited me to spend an evening with him and his family, and took me to call on the Mayor, who received me cordially and offered me the use of the Town Hall for a lecture. I accepted, and addressed a well-filled house; my receipts far exceeding my expenses in town.
The coziest place during these three stormy days, I found to be an easy chair by the great stove in the hotel office, where I whiled away most of my time. There, throughout the wintry days and evenings, assembled the guests of the house and many convivial spirits from town, to hear the biggest lie, or to relate the most ridiculous yarn.
At one of those gatherings, I met an interesting character Sylvenus Reynolds. Although he was eighty-four years old, he appeared as young and agile as most men of half his years. He attributed his longevity to active out-of-door life. Judging from his talk, one would have thought him to be the greatest traveler living; but, because he was denied the gift of a scribe, he would probably die like the heroes of the country churchyard, "unknown to fortune and to fame." He had tramped and lived by his rifle from Puget Sound to Terra Del Fuego, and was the first white man to cross the Andes from Chili to Brazil.
Once in the jungles of India he and a lion and a tiger all met unexpectedly, and, while the three were determining which two should become partners, the tiger made a spring at Sylvenus, and just when his gun missed fire and he thought it all up with him, the lion leaped in the air, caught the tiger by the neck, and killed it. He said after that he never could be induced to take the life of a lion, "the kindest and gentlest of wild beasts."
But I must tell about his famous jump across the Lock at Lockport, at that time 14½ feet wide. The event was well advertised. Temporary toll-gates were established, and ten cents levied on such individual passing through to the "show." Over eight hundred and eighty-eight dollars were collected for the jumper. The jump was successful, and Syl got the pot. The narrative closed with a discussion—and another jump.
"That wasn't such a mighty big jump," remarked a listener. "I know several fellows who can jump to beat 14½ feet."
"I'll bet a dollar with any or all the men present," said I, "that not one of you can stand still on this floor and jump 7 feet."
I had ten takers. The money was deposited with the proprietor; the house was thrown into great excitement. The ten jumps were made. But the judges agreed with Pod that the jumpers failed to stand still and jump, and so handed me the money. Naturally, the jumpers, being in a jumping mood, wanted to jump on me next, but they finally conciliated, and regarded me thereafter with suspicion.
Although the roads were reported impassable, we departed for Medina on Sunday morning, and, the day following, hastened on toward Lockport. When yet two miles to town, after traveling sixteen miles, a boy ran after us in the darkness and persuaded me to return to his house, as his Pa wished me to be his guest over night; so we did not reach Lockport until eleven next morning. I no sooner stabled Mac than I boarded the train for Buffalo in quest of a theatre engagement; failing in that, I returned to enjoy a stroke of good luck in the form of an engagement for Mac and me to appear on a vaudeville stage in Lockport, which netted me a few honest dollars.
At six o'clock Thursday morning we were off for Buffalo, a twenty-six mile journey. Only once did we stop, when I unsaddled for our mid-day meal at Stormville, Mammoth snow-drifts were piled against the fences and across the roads which, melting, gave way under my donkey's weight, frequently imprisoning his slim legs.
We reached a school-house near the village of Williamsville just as the scholars were dismissed for their nooning, and were immediately set upon by a laughing, shouting, questioning bevy of frolicsome children, who made merry sport of my partner's predicament; he was stuck in a snow-drift. If Mac had exerted himself a little, he might have climbed out, but he was tired, unusually obstinate, and naturally lazy, and so preferred to await developments.
One precocious genius in the crowd suggested rolling the donkey into a snowball, and rolling him to town. That was the signal for a general hurrah. I shook my head disapprovingly, but, on thinking it over, decided to try the novel plan.
"Come on, boys," I said. And then with peals of merriment and youthful energy which I never saw equalled, the whole lot soon packed the snow about the patient animal, until only his head and tail were left exposed; then I gave the word "heave to," and the asinine snowball began to turn slowly on its axis, and made a complete revolution. The donkey brayed with laughter; but before he had rolled a dozen times he stopped braying and began kicking, or rather made futile efforts to kick. A dozen more revolutions and he complained of dizziness, but the children only pushed and rolled with renewed energy. Larger and larger the snowball grew, until finally we had to stop and scale off sufficient snow to enable the good work to go on. And presently it did go on, and we rolled the asinine snowball into town amid the cheers and laughter of the children, the frightful brays of protestation from the imprisoned donkey, and the dumb consternation of the villagers.
Mac, when liberated, rose at once, only to topple over on his head. He claimed the earth was turning around, which was true enough, although not the way the donkey meant. He was too dizzy to stand for some time; each effort resulted in a comical physical collapse, that set the villagers shrieking with laughter. This was a good time for me to profit by Mac's generous entertainment, and while telling the assembled crowd all about our travels, I sold photos by the dozen. The people opened their pockets liberally, and before they could recover from the effects of the sensation Mac had caused, we pilgrims were hurrying out of town, over an easier road to Buffalo.
In consequence of the snowball affair and several other delays, we did not reach the city until after dark. Having traveled seventeen miles since lunch, we were ravenously hungry. Buffalo presented a beautiful sight, with her myriad lights gleaming on the snow. Down Main street, I espied a patent night-lunch wagon standing by the curb, and hitching Mac to the hind axle, I went in for a bite. Suddenly I became conscious that the vehicle was moving, and made a hasty exit, to discover I had traveled several blocks in the lunch wagon.
The hard travel Mac had been subjected to for the past week necessitated his having a long rest before resuming the journey. The morning after our arrival in Buffalo, my aristocratic donkey was made the honored guest of the Palace Stables, a large and handsome brick building. Mac's box stall was on the third floor, and could be reached either by an inclined run-way, or an elevator. The donkey being unaccustomed to such extravaganzas as elevators, chose the inclined plane, and even then he put on such airs that it required the united efforts of a half dozen stablemen to escort him to his apartment. Once there, he was feted like a nobleman.
I, too, was lavishly entertained. But of all the courtesies extended me the most interesting was the invitation to stand up with a young Italian wedding party in the City Hall, where the Mayor, who sent for me, tied the knot. His Honor did the sacred office bravely—until the conclusion, when he flunked completely. I'll explain.
Casimo Mazzette and Rosino Lodico were dago peasants, born in Palermo, Sicily. The groom was tall and proud and embarrassed, although ten years the senior of his eighteen-year-old bride, who was too coy to meet his gaze. She at first took Pod for a preacher, engaged to prompt the Mayor. According to the custom of their native heath, they simply joined hands, instead of using a wedding-ring,—a very sensible idea, for hard times. The pretty ceremony over, the bewitching female benedict looked at the Mayor, and moved toward him, and raised her face, but the embarrassed Mayor withdrew, to the astonishment of everyone, explaining that he was married to a jealous woman, and asked me to kiss the bride for him. He preferred to do the honors by proxy. So, without comment or hesitation, I stepped up to the pretty dago, placed my arm around her to avoid danger of making a bungle of the first kiss I ever gave a woman, drew her face to mine, and kissed her squarely on her ruby lips. She looked so happy that I was about to repeat the act, but her husband stepped between us. The pair shook hands with the Mayor and his clerical-looking assistant, who wished them lots of luck and "dagoettes," and then the blushing bride fled with her devoted swain out of the hall.
Next day I accepted for Mac an invitation to a phonograph exhibition in the Ellicott Building. We both attended and were richer for it. The room was well-filled with men and women who eagerly awaited the advertised show. When the manager courteously asked what was the donkey's favorite style of music I explained that, as he was a slow animal, he probably preferred lively music. At once the "yellow kid" held the tubes to the donkey's ears; those sensitive organs indicated his delight by each alternatively flapping forward and backward; but, suddenly, as they were thrown forward together, the jackass kicked an incandescent light globe above into flying fragments. Women screamed and fell into the arms of the men for protection.
"You said the donkey was gentle," said the manager, angrily.
"So he is," I returned.
"Then how do you account for such high kicking?"
"Struck a discord, I presume," I said. "What music is in that machine?"
The clerk answered. "The first p-p-piece was the "Darkey's Dream," said he, with slight impediment of speech, "but the s-s-second was "Schneider's Band."
"Who wouldn't kick!" I exclaimed. Due apologies were in order, and confidence was restored, and an hour later we two departed with the donkey's earnings and the well wishes of all.
CHAPTER XI.
One bore is enough
One bore is enough
From which table we may safely conclude there is one dog less in the world, and that, estimating him by his kicks, Mac is a jackass and a half.
If I had kept a complete record of the breeds, sorts, colors, and conditions of the canines, the pups and curs we met with on the road from New York, I might have compiled a book larger than Trow's New York City Directory, which still would exclude the mongrels and all unclassified "wags" and "barks" of the country sausage-districts.
From a financial point of view, I was disappointed with our four-days' sojourn in Buffalo, but Mac and I were rested, and the weather was milder. The winds from Lake Erie had swept the snow off the roads against the fences where it didn't belong, so that my partner had to drag the sled out of Buffalo over a dry and rutty highway. There were, however, several places where the elements had shown a grudge against the farmers by piling huge snow drifts across the road to impede their travel and maliciously blowing the white spread from the fields of winter wheat which required its protecting warmth.
Directly on reaching Hamburg, we were taken in charge by a Mr. Kopp (Mac had predicted a cop would have us before long), and given a warm reception. On the way to Eaton's Corners, six miles beyond, I undertook to earn fifty cents in an extraordinary manner; some might call it a hoggish manner. A farmer hailed me from a barnyard, and asked if he could sell me a boar.
"Boar!" I exclaimed, almost losing my breath; and I added: "No, sir; one boar is enough."
"Well, then, do yer want to make a half dollar?" he called.
"Course I do—more than anxious," I answered.
"Then jes' help me drag this 'ere hog ter town most; Squire Birge has bought it, and I've agreed ter deliver it or bust."
"Let's see it," I said. "Don't know much about hogs, but I'll know more, I guess, when I see yours."
I followed the man, Mac tagging close behind. Behold! A docile looking hog of mastodon dimensions was conveying the contents of a corn crib to its inner self. I walked around the beast several times to count his good points, and closed the bargain.
An end of a rope was fastened to the hog's hind foot, and the other end wound round the pommel of the saddle. Then I gave the infuriated donkey the whip. A tug of war followed; presently the rope snapped, and donkey and hog were hurled in opposite directions, both turning somersaults. Luckily my rifle escaped injury. The hog lost the kink in his tail; he looked mad, and with his vicious stares, frightened Mac half to death. Finally the rope was again adjusted, and an exciting scene ensued. The velocity of the vibrations of that hog's roped foot, trying to kick loose, put electricity to shame. When the donkey eased up a little, the boar showed its true character by starting for the barn, pulling Mac after him; while, on the other hand, when the hog stopped for wind, the donkey would make a dive for town and drag him until he also had to pause for breath. So those obdurate beasts worked rather than played at cross-purposes for half an hour before I forfeited my contract and proceeded on over the frozen road.
We reached Angola by seven, and Farnham at ten o'clock. There we were comfortably quartered; Mac was rubbed with liniment, fed and watered, while I, too late for supper, retired with an empty stomach.
The Lake Shore road threads some thrifty-looking towns. The country was dotted with neatly painted barns and cozy houses, surrounded by energetic windmills and inert live-stock, while denuded vineyards laced the frosted shores for miles about. We lunched at Silver Creek, where a burly denizen tried to sell me a big dog, which, he claimed, would tear an ox into pieces. The price named was $5. Neither man nor dog made an impression on me.
When I finally drew rein in Dunkirk, at 7:30 P. M., the hotel was alive with commercial men who quickly surrounded us. In ten minutes I sold enough chromos to pay our expenses over night and purchase a new breast-band for Mac.
Prior to February 12, Lincoln's Birthday, I traveled so rapidly (even with a donkey), that events somewhat confused me; following the shore of Lake Erie, I visited a dozen towns or more, sometimes several in a single day.
I had no sooner disfigured the guest register of the New Hotel, Fredonia, with my odd signature than I discovered the illustrious name of Geo. W. Cable on the line above mine. It seemed a strange coincidence that two such famous men as Cable and Pod should be so unexpectedly crowded together in that little book, in a little inn, in that town. Natural enough and pursuant to the Law of Affinities, I immediately sent my card to the celebrated author, who at once invited the eccentric traveler to his room. Mr. Cable had been reclining, having just arrived by train. He gave me a complimentary ticket to his lecture, that evening, which I placed in my pocket, and later gave to the hotel clerk for discounting my bill.
"What a pretty place this must be in summer," was the author's initiatory remark, while twisting a yawn into a smile.
"Yes, indeed," I answered, and stretched my legs.
"And how do you stand the journey."
"Oh, fairly well; getting in better condition every day."
"You are a slender man, Professor, but I assume, very wiry, like the cables."
The conversation continued until I felt the strain, and I presently shook hands, and wishing him a full house, departed. The author-lecturer is a little under stature; he wore a genial smile and frock coat; his eyes were as bright as duplex burners; and he shook hands just as other people do.
It was long after dark when we travelers ambled into Brockton and put up for the night.
Mac and I had passed the day in the village of Ripley. The Raines Law did not seem to have a salutary effect on that section of the State. I met on the road that afternoon a tall, lank, tipsy fellow, carrying a long muzzle-loader gun. He stopped me, and said he was a Westerner, a half-breed, and fifty years old. "Been out shootin' mavericks," he said importantly. "Same gun (hic) had in th' Rockies. I'm gentle, though—gentle as a kitten." I was charmed to know he was not hostile, said "So long," and hurried on.
Sunday was Valentine's Day. I received a few doubtfully appropriate souvenirs, but did not discover the name of a single friend in the batch. Before leaving Ripley I was presented with a large and handsome dog, a cross between the bloodhound and the mastiff, a pup weighing 98 pounds, which I named Donkeyota. The generous donor was a Mr. W. W. Rickenbrode, who accompanied me some distance to assist me in handling the huge animal, in case of emergency. He had no sooner bade me good-bye than I feared lest I should not be able to make another mile that day. The wind blew a hurricane. While passing a cemetery, I took a snap-shot of square grave-stones, which photograph shows them rolling in that driving gale. It was the most wonderful demonstration of the wind's power I ever witnessed.
Shortly afterward, in descending a steep and icy road into a gully the sled with its burden ran against my donkey's heels, upset him, and carried him half way down the hill. In my anxiety and haste to assist Mac, and hold on to my hat, I dropped the dog's chain, and away he went kiting down hill after the sled; and I needed four hands. To my surprise, the dog, Don, seemed to enjoy the entertainment, and instead of fleeing back to Ripley, rolled in the snow and barked in glee.
We reached the Half Way House, Harbor Creek, after dark. Next morning after breakfast the landlord's little daughter came rushing into the house to impart the thrilling news that John, their horse, had a little colt; and, enthusiastically leading us to the stable, she pointed to my donkey and said, "There! see?" Mac A'Rony turned his head and regarded the little one with a comical expression on his countenance, as much as to say, "If I brayed, you'd think me a Colt's revolver."
Upon entering the city of Erie, Pa., the Transfer Company sent an invitation to Mac A'Rony and Donkeyota to be its guests; I sought a leading hotel, and busied myself with my newspaper article. Tuesday, late in the day, we started for Fairview, twelve miles beyond. We passed many jolly sleighing parties, some of whom stopped to chat with me, and share with me refreshments, and purchase my chromos; and one sleigh load promised to entertain me royally at the hotel. They kept their word, and after refreshments and an hour's rest, we resumed the journey in the light of the full moon, arriving at Girard by 9:30. Next morning, the village constable arrested my attention and persuaded me to act as auctioneer at a vendue; by which deal I made some money. I worded the hand-bill as follows:
The dodgers were speedily printed and circulated in all directions—sown broadcast, as it were—and, it being a windy day, they flew like scudding snow-flakes over every farm for miles around.
A great throng assembled to witness the extraordinary event, and to take advantage of bargains with the traveler-auctioneer, who, mounted on a pile of wood, with plug hat in hand, yelled at the top of his voice and finally disposed of the rubbish. The art of auctioneering seemed to come to me by inspiration, and the enthusiastic farmers and towns-people swarmed around me, eager to secure a trophy of the notable sale.
"Three superb harrows are now to be sold, and will be sold, if I have to buy them myself—seventy-two tooth, thirty-six tooth and false tooth harrows; harrows with wisdom teeth, eye teeth and grinders, will grind up the soil and corn-stubble in a harrowing manner, and cultivate the acquaintance of the earth better than any other kinds made. How much am I offered?" As I yelled, I felt that I had strained my voice.
"One dollar," called a granger to set the ball rolling.
"One dollar, one dollar, one dollar—going one dollar—gone one dollar—to the bow-legged gentleman over there, with albino eyebrows"—"This way, sir!" I shouted. "Constable, please take his name, and chain him to the wood pile."
In this manner it didn't take me long to dispose of the farm, including the soil four thousand miles deep, and the air forty-five miles high. I finished the ordeal by noon, was paid my fee, and then discourteously told that I had realized several hundred dollars less from the sale than the constable himself could have done. Still every purchaser admitted he was more than satisfied with my generous conduct, shook my hand, bought a chromo and expressed the desire to meet me again. And that was a thing that does not happen always in connection with vendues.
CHAPTER XII.
At a country dance
At a country dance
I did not tarry long in Girard, but spent the night in West Springfield. Thursday morning I escaped from the Keystone into the Buckeye State, eating dinner in Conneaut. As the sleighing had disappeared, I shipped my little sled home, as a relic of the trip, and packed my grip in the saddle, as of old.
After a short rest in Ashtabula, we climbed a hill by the South Ridge road, where I got a fine view of the city, and soon lost ourselves in the darkness.
Presently a farmer drove up in a rickety wagon and began to coax me to accept of his hospitality for the night. He deftly explained that he would care for me and my animals until after breakfast for fifty cents.
I decided to avail myself of the invitation, and Mac congratulated me on my display of good sense. I, too, slapped myself on the shoulder; I was ready to sup and go right to bed. In a short time both donk and dog were comfortably stabled, and I was introduced to the family. The noises from the lighted kitchen had faintly intimated to me the sort of den into which I was allured. It contained the noisiest lot of children that ever blessed a household.
"Are these all yours?" I inquired, politely.
"Nope," answered Mr. Cornbin. "Ye see, this 'ere's sort of a half-way house;" the man smiled, and poked some cheap tobacco into his corn-cob pipe. "There's goin' to be a dance down to Plimton's to-night and all our friends from around 've fetched in their babies for George Buck—he's our hired man—to take care of. Like to dance, eh? Better go 'long—fine women going ter be there—here's plug, if ye want a chew—no? That's smokin' terbaccer on the table by yer. We're plain folks, but you're welcome to the best we've got."
Mrs. C. prepared me a supper which went right to the spot. She advised me to go to the dance, by all means. I had made up my mind to that as soon as the word "dance" was mentioned; the "kids" would have driven me crazy in short order, had I remained with Buck.
One by one the mothers of the hilarious "brats" came in; then we all got our wraps on. I expected, of course, we were going to ride, but no, the whole party walked. My hostess took her own babe with her. She would leave the hired man in charge of her neighbors' children, but was too wise to entrust her own child with him and the lamp.
When we reached our destination I was introduced to four grangers playing "seven up," and told to make myself comfortable. "Choose your woman, Professor," said Mr. Cornbin, "an' show 'em how you kin manage yer feet on a waxed floor."
Sure enough, the floor was waxed. The garret was converted into a veritable ball-room. Two rows of upright scantling crossed in the center of the room and propped the snow-laden roof, and through these uprights, some twenty inches apart, glided the blue jeans and overalls, calico and cambric skirts, with as much energy and pride as might be squeezed out of a city cotillion. The fiddlers and caller were mounted on a board platform at one end of the "hall." They sawed away and shouted, and wore out more enthusiasm, catgut and shoe-leather than I ever saw wasted in the same length of time.
There were all sorts of dances and dancers. I myself tackled the Virginia reel, Lancers, Quadrille, Caledonia, Polka, Hornpipe, Mazourka, a Spanish dance, the Irish Washwoman, and several others. The favorite music was "Pussy in the Rainbarrel;" it served for a half dozen different dances. I never liked the music—a sort of windpipe or bagpipe which allowed no breathing-spell from start to finish. In my second dance I went off my feet, my head caught under the sloping roof, and the floor master had to knock my "pins" from under me to get me loose.
There was one pretty girl there, and I tried to engage her for a dance, but every time I approached her she shied away; at last, she got used to my odd appearance, and allowed me to clasp her to my bosom in a waltz. Just as we got started, the dance closed, and the caller shouted to choose partners for a square dance. My pretty partner agreed to dance it with me; I could see several of her admirers looking "daggers" at me.
"Forward; right and left!" sounded the call. "Lead yer partners round the outside!"
I thought the caller meant the outside of the house, and started down stairs, but was soon stopped, and the call explained to me.
"Alaman left!—grand right and left!—half way and back—change partners, and four ladies salute!—balance again and swing the opposite lady!"
That succession of calls completely demoralized me. I got all mixed up, and soon found myself clasping an upright instead of somebody's partner, and concluded my part by violently sitting on the floor. After that I contented myself with looking on.
Although the two prettiest features of the ball—the Minuette and the St. Vitus Dance—had not yet taken place, I felt more than satisfied, and bidding my friends good morning, set out for the Cornbin domicile.
After a late breakfast of tea, bread, salt pork and fried potatoes, I started for Geneva.
All through New York State people had supposed on seeing me that "Uncle Tom's Cabin" had "busted," and that Marks, the lawyer, was homeward bound with his mule. In Ohio, the curious countrymen inquired if I was on my way to join Maine's Circus, at its winter quarters, Geneva. Mac, as well as I, was quite sensitive over these inquiries. Through the driving snow-storm we managed to reach a hotel where, after a noon meal, I led my animals on to Madison.
When a half mile yet to the village we passed the Old Woman's Home, which I visited the following morning, Sunday. The man who planned it was a genius. The rooms of the commodious building were fitted up to suit the whims of the most fastidious fossils of second childhood. Paintings and plaster bas-reliefs of old women knitting, washing false teeth, and sewing, decorated the walls. Sewing baskets, crazy quilts, dolls, and paper soldiers were strewn about the rooms. The most novel of all departments was the dental and hirsute Check Room, where the old ladies checked their false teeth, wigs, cork legs, etc., when they happened in disuse. A little brass ring containing a number is given the owner of the article to be checked, so that it may be preserved in good condition, and not get lost. Incidents are cited where very old women, during intervals of temporary aberration, have got their checks mixed and tried to wear an extra set of teeth, or an additional wig; and it is said that once a woman with two normal legs endeavored to hook on a cork leg. But when we consider the great age of the inmates, such cases are quite pardonable.
From the next town, Painesville, we went to the home of President Garfield. Mr. R——, who had the care of the handsome residence, invited me in to rest, and sup. I was shown all of the beautiful and interesting rooms. In the spacious hall hung a large photograph of Milan Cathedral, and in the upstairs hall, a portrait of Washington and an engraving of Lincoln. In the General's favorite study, I was permitted to sit in the large easy chairs where he had found comfort after his mental labors and inspiration for his speeches and debates, and regarded the bric-a-brac and furniture with more awe and reverence than I had ever felt upon visiting the homes of the great.
Two miles beyond Mentor is Kirtland, once a thriving Mormon camp. It is situated at considerable distance from the direct route to Cleveland, and it took us over a distressingly muddy road, and through such intense darkness that I soon lost my bearings. Seeing the gleam of a lamp in a window, I went up to the house to inquire the way to the tavern. The owner insisted on our being his guests, and I felt very grateful. My animals were assigned to a shed, and I was invited to a hot supper, which my good hostess hastily prepared.
I soon discovered that I was among spiritualists, as well as Latter Day Saints. My Host, Mr. J——, was an elderly man, and well informed. He said much about Joseph Smith. He himself was born in Kirtland some eighty years back, and had often listened to the preachings of the founder of Mormonism. In those days Kirtland contained about 2,000 inhabitants; but all that remained of the town are two stores, a shop, and a dozen or so little houses, half of which I found to be occupied by itinerant preachers of the "Latter Day Saints."
My host said he firmly believed in Spiritualism, and dwelt at length on communication between the material and spiritual world. Finally he strode to my chair and felt of my cranium.
"Why Prof.," said he enthusiastically, "you are a medium yourself. All you require is a little study of the science. Spiritualism is merely the science of materialism." I shivered audibly.
"And do you mean to tell me," I said, "that you believe honestly you can see the ghost, or the spirit of the departed?"
"I know it," Mr. J—— returned, emphatically. "I have felt the spirit of the departed. One night at a seance I saw my little step-daughter who had been dead many years. I heard her call to me "papa." She put her arms round my neck, and kissed me on the lips. Then she disappeared. Of course, I know it! I saw her, I heard her, I felt her; isn't that proof enough?"
I told my host that he was certainly convinced, but I wasn't. I then bade him and his wife good night, and was ushered to my chamber. There I pulled the clothes over my head, and tried to attribute my shivers to the cold.
When I awoke next morning and searched in my grip for my razor and found in place of it a "Toledo Blade," I began to suspect some supernatural being had robbed me.
Before leaving Kirtland my host persuaded me to be shown the famous Temple and the house in which the Prophet, Joseph Smith, lived. The Temple of the Latter Day Saints there standing, is probably the only church of three stories in the country. I climbed to the tower that surmounts it, and got a fine view of the spot where once stood the house of Brigham Young. The arrangement of the inner temple was quite novel. At both extremities of the main hall, or nave, was a series of four rows of white-painted seats, lettered in gilt to represent the several orders of the Priests of Melchizedek. Long rows of rings hung from the ceiling, crossing each other in places, from which were once suspended curtains to divide the nave into rooms for the sessions of the different orders, and in the white square pillars might still be seen the rollers and pulleys with which the curtains were drawn.
Said Mr. J——, "I have heard Joseph Smith shout from that pulpit and tell how the Mormons would yet build a temple still larger, to answer their future needs, and some day in the future another one a mile square; that they were the chosen people, and would send missionaries to convert all Europe, after which they proposed to sweep in America to a man. Soon after that proclamation he moved West with a large following. There they reorganized, and the new order assumed the title of 'The Latter Day Saints.'"
Traveling that day was most disheartening in more ways than one. The roads were awful, my exchequer extremely low. Fortunately, on the way to Willoughby a farmer offered to feed me and my partner, provided we would help him saw some wood.
Mac supervised the work. After we sawed off a section of a log, the farmer handed me the axe, but soon took it from me, saying that I couldn't chop any better than I could saw. Then we ate.
CHAPTER XIII.
A peculiar, cold day
A peculiar, cold day
As Bud bestrode the donkey the cheers of the throng rose, but above the tumult he could hear the North End jeering at him.
—Much Pomp and Several Circumstances.From Willoughby we went to Cleveland. My route through the beautiful city lay along one of the finest residence streets in America—the famous Euclid avenue.
From there we marched to Superior street, where cheers greeted us on every hand. The papers had heralded my advent, and as in the other towns and cities, the newspaper artists had taxed their imaginations to picture Pod and Mac.
We two were engaged to appear at the Star Theatre Wednesday evening, and when I rode out on to the stage the house shook with laughter and cheers. I made a short address and announced that I would sell photos of Mac A'Rony and his master at the door.
That theatre put me way ahead financially. Thursday morning I called on the Mayor, Mark Hanna and Senator Garfield, and added the autographs of all three to my album. Mr. Garfield invited me to attend the weekly dinner and reception of the "Beer and Skittles Club," that evening. I went and enjoyed myself.
Next day I reached the village of Bedford by 7:00 P. M., only making thirteen miles; and the following night I put up at a cozy inn at Cuyahoga Falls. We three had covered eighteen miles that day; it seemed twice the distance. I was almost frozen. All day I held my once frost-bitten nose in my woolen mittens, and my ears were wrapped in a silk muffler. In the morning a man hailed me: "Cold day!"
"Yes, pretty chilly," I returned, politely.
A half mile on a farmer opened the door and yelled:
"Pretty cold, hain't it, Professor?"
"You bet," said Pod, icily.
Some distance further a fat German drove by in a gig and said: "It vash cold—don't it?"
"'Course it's cold!" I answered, acridly.
A mile beyond two men reminded me it was a very wintry day.
Then a woman drove past and tossed me the comforting reminder: "Don't you find it awfully cold?" I did not reply to the last two.
Twenty minutes later a boy, from a cozy home, yelled to me. I had passed to some distance, and did not understand. It sounded like, "Won't you come in and warm, and have lunch," I hesitated a moment in the biting wind, then retraced my steps and called to the lad: "What's that you said?"
"It's a cold day!" yelled the scamp.
I was mad enough to unload my Winchester. But I didn't; I only tucked my half-frozen nose in my mits, rubbed my ears, and continued my journey, like an ice-covered volcano. A mile beyond a wagon with a family in it passed me, and the man said, "Cold, my friend." At dusk a farmer inquired, "Hasn't it been a pretty frigid day?" The human volcano was now ready to burst. So when a man and woman warmly clad drove by in a buggy, with top up, I resolved to get even. I shouted several times before the rig stopped. A fur-clad head stuck out to one side, and a male voice called: "Can't hear ye; come nearer." I ambled up, put a foot on the hub of a wheel, and said, "I simply want to say, it's a cold day."
"You—!——!!———!!!————!!!!"
As soon as he had finished, I said, by way of civil explanation: "My dear sir, do you know, a hundred people have stopped me to-day and told me it is cold. I have tramped nearly twenty miles without stopping to warm or eat; and I resolved to let the next fellow have the same dose I have been taking half-hourly all day. Now, if you are satisfied that it is a cold day, I will bid you good night."
With this I returned to my companions, somewhat warmer physically, but cooler in spirit.
The hotel in Cuyahoga Falls received us most hospitably; I never shall forget the kindnesses of its landlady. The village dates back to pioneer days. It is built on the hunting grounds of the old Cuyahoga Indians.
Monday, March 1st, at 12:30 P. M., we arrived in Canton.
The citizens expected my arrival, and Market street teemed with excitement. In front of two hotels, a block apart, stood their proprietors waving hats and arms, and calling to me to be their guest. I was puzzled to know which invitation to accept. While deliberating, one of the landlords approached, and taking my arm, led me to his comfortable hostelry, where he royally entertained me and my animals.
The pageant that celebrated the departure of William McKinley to the seat of Government was a fair estimate of the regard in which his fellow-citizens held him. Canton did him honor. I witnessed the leave-taking at his house, his ride to the train in the coach drawn by four greys under escort of a band, and heard him deliver his farewell address from the rear platform of his private car.
I spent Wednesday night in Massillon, and next morning returned to Canton, to take some interior photographs of McKinley's home. I was successful, beyond my hopes and expectations, securing fine pictures of his study and parlor. The President's inauguration at Washington called forth a deafening demonstration. Cannon boomed, steam whistles shrieked, and the citizens shouted and hurrahed, and I was glad Mac was not with me to add his salute.
I returned to Massillon, and at 4:00 P. M., set out for Dalton over the muddiest, stickiest red-clay roads I ever encountered. I saw a meadow-lark on the first of March; this day I heard blue-birds and robins singing gaily. It looked as though spring had come to stay.
I expected that day to reach Dalton, only eight miles distant, but the mud prevented me. I put my foot in it—the genuine red and yellow mixture of real Ohio clay. It was so deep, and sticky, and liberally diluted with thawed frost that once I was compelled to crawl along the top of a rail fence two hundred feet and more, and drag my jackass. At dusk I had covered only three miles. Then I sought lodgings. A store loomed into view shortly; I was elated. According to the sign over the entrance, the younger generation was the ruling power. It read: "Hezekiah Brimley and Father." I made for Hez. He said the town hadn't reached the hotel stage of development yet, but that he would gladly take me in, provided I'd sleep with his clerk in the garret.
I found the store full of loungers, who patronized the chairs, soap and starch boxes, mackerel kits and counter, forming a silent circle round a towering stove in the center. The village treasurer wore a "boiled shirt" and brass collar-buttons, but no collar or coat. His companions were generally attired in flannel shirts of different hues and patterns, plush caps, which might be formed into several shapes and styles, and felt boots encased in heavy overshoes. These rural men eyed me with suspicion until I mentioned Mac A'Rony. Then there was a rush to the door. As it swung open, in leaped my great dog; at once the crowd surged back to the stove.
"Does yer dorg bite?" came several queries in a bunch.
"No," I said. "He has killed a bull, chewed up a ram, made Thanks-giving mince-meat of several dogs, chased a pig up a tree, and only this morning ate two chickens and a duck and chased a farmer into his hay loft. But he doesn't bite."
My statement had a sensational effect on the assembly, who, one by one, sneaked out of the door, leaving Hez and his odd guest alone. As soon as the junior member, Hez's father, came in, Hez took my animals to the shed and fed them, and told me to help myself to the best in the store. "Ye know what ye want; I don't."
Hez said he was sorry he was just out of butter and bread. I was sorry, too. Wishing a light supper, I selected one yeast cake (warranted 104 per cent. pure), a pint of corned oysters (light weight), some crackers, and leaf lard, to take the place of butter, and a cake of bitter chocolate. I left a few things unmolested; such as soap, cornstarch, cloves, baking-powder and stove-polish.
My assorted supper went down all right until I tackled the chocolate. Chocolate is a favorite beverage of mine; besides, I wanted a hot drink. To be good, chocolate must be well dissolved. No pot was to be had, save a flower-pot with a hole in the bottom. A great idea popped into my head. I would drink chocolate on the instalment plan. Did you ever try it? If not, don't let your curiosity get the better of you.
Chocolate belongs to the bean family, and the bean is a very treacherous thing—chocolate bean, castor-oil bean, pork-bean, and all kinds. I first ate the cake of chocolate, then some sugar, and drank two dippersful of hot water,—then shook myself. That mixture might suit my stomach, I thought, but it doesn't delight my palate. I felt I had eaten a heavy meal unwittingly, and sat down to digest it. I hadn't sat long before I felt myself swelling. Something within was sizzling and brewing and steaming; gas and steam choked me. I was sure there was going to be a demonstration in my honor that I had not bargained for. The yeast cake came to mind; then I knew the cause. My body grew warm, and finally I was so hot that I had to go to the garret and take a cold bath; after which I excused myself to the clerk, and went to bed, and dreamed I was being cremated alive.
Next morning, on invitation of the superintendent, I visited the Pocock Coal Mine, situated close by, and had an enjoyable trip through its subterranean passages.
CHAPTER XIV.
I bargain for eggs
I bargain for eggs
It was noon when I started for Dalton, three miles away, and night before we arrived there. The mud oozed into my overshoes, and I made Mac carry me and my grip. I delivered a lecture, whose receipts about defrayed my expenses, and was presented a pair of rubber boots by a man frank enough to admit the boots didn't fit him.
We spent the Sabbath in Wooster. While strolling down its main street with my dog, I suddenly came upon a captive coyote, which defied Don, who ran off in a fright. That monster canine fell considerably in my estimation. I wondered what he would do when our camps on the plains were surrounded with a hundred of these yelping beasts.
Wooster, rather a pretty town, is the seat of a university. The word "seat" reminds me that I needed a pair of trousers. The rainy season had set in, and I wanted a reserve pair. Otherwise, when my only pair got soaked I must go to bed until they dried. I walked into a Jewish clothier's, and, selecting a pair of corduroys, inquired, "How much?"
"Two dollahs ond a hollaf," said the merchant. He informed me that in Mansfield the same "pants" would cost $3, in Fort Wayne $5, in Chicago $7, etc. I said that according to his way of reckoning I could have purchased the same kind of trousers in Dalton for $2, in Massillon for $1, and in Canton for a song. My argument staggered him, but he soon recovered, and showed me a great colored picture, representing a pair of corduroys, one leg chained to an elephant, the other hooked to a locomotive, and both powers working in opposite directions to part those wonderful trousers.
"Just vot you vant vor riding a jockoss; can't bull abart; vy, my dear sir, it's a bargain." That was a strong argument; I bought the "pants."
Passing on through Jeromeville and Mifflin, we reached Mansfield, the home of Senator Sherman; and sixteen miles beyond Galion. That lovely spring day, with the birds chirping merrily in the trees, my pilgrimage seemed unusually irksome. Next day was my birthday, and I resolved to make it a holiday.
I enjoyed a day of recreation, so did my donkey and dog, and in the evening delivered a lecture on my travels before a campaign league at its club house.
On Friday morning I started for the town of Marion, twenty-six miles away. Many citizens of Galion assembled to see us off. Mac and Don were impatient for the journey, and amused the crowd by pulling each other's whiskers. I had boasted of having trained Mac A'Rony to follow me. When I set out with a wave of my hat and a beckon to my partner, he responded promptly, and for some distance verified my boasts. He never before had acted so tractable. Suddenly, a cheer sounded in the distance, and, turning, I beheld that asinine rascal making back to town on a hop-skip-and-jump. How the crowd did yell! It was a circus for them. Mac certainly had rested too long and eaten too many oats. The only time I got ahead of him was when I photographed him. I did not upbraid him, but when I readjusted my scattered belongings and whirled the whip over his head, he moved forward with utmost humility.
At Caledonia, I took advantage of the farmers' market day and sold a large number of photos at a good price. I could not appear anywhere on the street without some rural stranger stopping me to shake hands and purchase a chromo. Saturday evening I lectured to a crowded house.
It was 4:30 P. M. Sunday before I started to Kenton, twenty-seven miles beyond. When nearly there, I passed a small farm whose rural incumbent came to the fence to question me.
"Goin' ter show to-night?" he inquired.
"Nope," I answered, and kept Mac A'Rony moving.
"Hold a minute!—Be ye travelin' er goin' somewhere?" the man persisted, as he leaned over the fence-rail. He interested me.
"When you see people walking," I returned, bringing my donkey to halt, "you can take it for granted, they are going somewhere."
The lonesome-looking farmer was the first I had met who was neither busy at work nor whittling. Gray locks fell wantonly over his ears. His faded coat, blue overalls and felt boots exhibited signs of a persistent conflict with farm implements, hooking cows, kicking horses, and a rich clayey soil. A cow and two hogs eyed my donkey and dog with contempt through the bars of the barnyard fence. I observed that all the buildings, including the house, were of logs. The man, judging from his property, didn't have a dollar in the world, but had great expectations. He asked if I had any books to sell. I had one, a copy of a volume I had published, several of which I had sold on my journey at a good price. I had lost fifteen valuable minutes talking with the man, and resolved to get even. While wondering what I could take in exchange for the book, a hen cackled.
"Certainly. I have a book to sell," I said.
"How much is it?"
"Dollar and a half."
"I'd buy it," said the farmer, longingly, "but I hain't got the price."
"Have you got any eggs?" I asked.
"Dozens of 'em. How many kin ye suck at a sittin'?"
"I don't wish to suck them; I want them to sell," I replied. "How much do you ask a dozen?"
"Six cents," he answered.
"Well," I said, "I will trade the book for ten dozen. Is that a bargain? It looks like a cinch for you."
"I meant a book about yer travels t' San Francisco," he explained, as he looked far away.
"Well, that's just what it is," I returned, bound to make a sale, or die in the attempt. "Tells all about them: how robbers shot at me in York State, bull chased me down a well in Pennsylvania, dog worried me up a tree in Illinois, cowboys rescued me from Indians in the Rocky Mountains, grizzly bear hugged—"
"Whew," ejaculated the man. "Thet's what I want. Ye got yer book aout purty soon. Wait till I go and fetch th' eggs." And the apparently ignorant man disappeared, soon to re-appear with a paper sack full of hen fruit.
"Fresh?" I inquired, as I tied the fragile bundle to the saddle-horn.
"Couldn't be fresher," was the positive answer. "Some laid terday, some yisterday, but most on 'em ter-morrer." Then observing my arched brows, he added, "Yaas—yer thunk I was a know-nuthin', and I let yer think so, 'cause yer need 'couragement. And I say agin, most on 'em was laid ter-morrer, and th' best on 'em is rooster eggs."
I delivered the book, feeling the farmer had somewhat the better of me after all, and came to the conclusion that because a man looks primitive, and lives in primitive style, he is not necessarily of primitive intellect.
Mac joined in a pleasant adieu to Mr. Bosh, and we sauntered on, I, behind, deeply absorbed in thought. We hadn't proceeded a half mile, however, before Mac shied at a bunch of hay, and ran plumb against a rail-fence; in a jiffy that jackass looked like an egg-nog. There is no word coined to express my eggs-ass-peration.
When I caught the scapegrace, it required a half hour to make him and the saddle look the least respectable. I stopped at the next farm house, where a windmill supplied me with the water to wash the outfit, and I signed a pledge never to have anything to do with shell games of any kind. They always get the better of you.
CHAPTER XV.
Gypsy girl tells fortune
Gypsy girl tells fortune
Every one who has petted a favorite donkey will remember many traits of its mental capacities; for, as in the case of the domestic fool, there is far more knavery than folly about the creature.—Wood's Natural History.
It was a sunny spring day when I arrived in Kenton. After supper with a young physician, on his invitation, I retired, and next day set out for Ada, a village sixteen miles away. Toward evening, being tired and almost without funds, I sat down to converse with a farmer who was husking corn. He soon became interested in my trip, and said if I would help him husk awhile he would feed me and my animals. I gladly consented; Mac A'Rony and Don lent their assistance, the donkey soon losing his appetite. After a delicious supper with the farmer's family, I hastened on, reaching Ada long after dark.
Ada is the seat of a Normal School, which is the seat of a large number of other seats. Everybody seemed to be much concerned about the great fistic bout to take place in Carson City that day; the 17th of March. It was "St. Patrick's Day in the morning," with the weather threatening, when I started for Lima. My coat was decorated with cabbage and lettuce leaves and paper imitations of shamrock, and I looked like an animated vegetable garden. Finally it rained; and the road became a mire.
I had just finished a heated argument on the Carson fight, and began to question the story of how St. Patrick drove the snakes out of Ireland, when I suddenly found myself on the ground. And I saw the streak of daylight Mac threatened to kick into my brain.
An old man tried to drive a colt past my strange-looking outfit. I called to him to hold his horse by the bit until I could lead my donkey into the field. But no, he could handle the colt, or any other horse, and I should mind my own business. On the rig came a few yards nearer, when in the twinkling of an eye the colt whirled and upset the buggy with its boastful driver. The man was not hurt; but somewhat dazed. Several farmers soon arrived and were loud in their abuse, saying Mac and I had no right on the highway. It was an effort for the donkey to keep his mouth shut. I replied, civilly, that I was sorry the thing occurred, and explained how I had warned the stranger.
Then I whipped up my unjustly abused partner, and left the old man pulling his beard thoughtfully in the midst of the sympathetic group. All day I strode far in advance of my donkey and led untrained, untamed, and frightened horses past.
Next day being stormy, I devoted the morning to writing my newspaper article and answering some urgent letters; then, failing to arrange for a lecture, I left Lima for Delphos, and tramped fifteen miles in mud and rain without lunch.
We spent Saturday night in Van Wert, and Sunday afternoon resumed the journey in sunshine, people crowding their front windows and doorways to see us leave town. We had not proceeded far when I met an odd trio who had run half a mile across lots to speak to me. One boy had a twisted foot; another, a hand minus five or six fingers; and the third acknowledged that as soon as he caught sight of us he lost his head. Considering their crippled condition, I thought they deserved credit for such activity.
It was eight miles to Convoy. There was no bottom to the road. Seeking a footing along the fence, I ground innumerable land crabs into the mud, while the peepers in the swampy clearings piped their dismal music. At dusk we waded into the village where a curious throng awaited the sensation of the day. And there we spent the night.
The nearer I approached the Indiana border, the more impoverished appeared the farms and their struggling proprietors. Every other farm-house was the primitive log-cabin, and the barns and outbuildings generally tallied with the house.
A thunderstorm awoke me at day-break; the prospect for my day's tramp was most dismal. After walking six miles, I stopped to talk with a party of gypsies, in camp. Presently a black-eyed gypsy girl issued from a heap of bedding under a tree, and inquired if Mac A'Rony was an ostrich. Her heavy jet-black hair fell in a mass over her shoulders, and her sparkling eyes did their level best to enchant me, as she asked to tell my fortune.
"How much?" I asked.
Her grizzled sire said fifty cents; the daughter corrected him, saying one dollar. That was too steep for me. I gave Mac the rein and proceeded some distance when the girl called to me, "Twenty-five cents! Come back!" This was an alluring proposition, and I returned. At once dismissing the bystanders, she reached over the fence for my hand, told me to place a quarter in it, then to close and open it. I no sooner obeyed than the coin disappeared, and the gypsy began in a charming manner, as follows:
"That line shows you will live to a good old age. You are to enjoy your best days in the future. Understand me? If your pocket was as big as your heart you would make many others happy. Understand me?" She surely must mean creditors, I thought. "Yes," I answered.
"Shows it in your face," said she. "You have for a long time disliked your business" (that was no lie), "and want to change it. Understand me? You make friends easily, and wherever you go you are invited to come again. Understand me?" I nodded. "Shows it in your face." I began to think she was reading my countenance instead of my hand.
"Are you married?" she asked. "No, but want to be," I replied.
"Shows it in your face," said she. "A widow lady is in love with you. She has written you, and you will get her letter soon. Her name is Sarah. Understand me?"
"I do not," said I; "I know but one woman named Sarah. Heaven help me if she is after me!"
"Shut your hand now, and make a wish," said the girl.
I did as she bade, and wished long and hard.
"Now open," said she. Her black eyes seemed to pierce my very soul. "You wish to make fame and fortune. Understand me?"
"True, I do," I said to her; that's just what every man wishes, I said to myself. Then she continued:
"You will make fame and fortune in the business you are now in. Shows it in your face." I wasn't satisfied with that prediction; I preferred the fortune to be in my pocket.
"A kiss is awaiting you from a black-haired girl within two weeks' time. She loves you. A lot of girls want you, but they can't have you. Understand me?"
"I confess that I don't quite," I answered. "But I wish those poor girls did." And I looked real serious.
"Shows it in your face," she repeated. That fortune teller puzzled me. The quarter's worth of seance at an end, I plodded on toward the Hoosier country with my mute comrades, wondering how much of the fortune would come true.
Soon afterward we got out of the mud area and came to a hard, smooth, broken-stone road. I stopped my donkey and sat down to take off my rubber boots. Just when I got the first shoe on, Mac began to move down the level turnpike. I called, "Whoa, Mac! Huh!! You long-eared Mephisto!" The jackass paid no heed, but galloped on, shaking his head and kicking up his heels merrily with the dog in front of him, barking as if he enjoyed Mac's practical joke. By this time I was speeding after the runaway, a boot on one foot, a shoe on the other, and chased a half mile before I caught him. Then I led him back for my footgear.
Two miles beyond we again struck mud, thick and deep. Observing a little mound covered with long dried grass, I sat down again to change my footgear. Mac turned and eyed me mischievously, and wobbled his ears, then nodded to Don. I was so absorbed with the idea that he intended to lead me another chase that I failed to hear an ominous sound emanating from underneath my seat. Not until something seemed to burn me did I rise to the occasion, and light out, this time stocking foot, but making less speed through the black and sticky highway than on my former run.
Something less than a million bees swarmed about my head. I ran! Oh, how I ran! And I would be running still, perhaps, had not a farmer seen me and knocked down the swarm with a section of a rail fence. I was quite out of breath. The hero had only spared my life for future tortures.
After considerable search, I found boots and shoes, but failed to see either dog or donkey. Putting on my boots, I hung my shoes on the fence, and set out on the trail of the fugitives, which appeared to have gone into the brush. I waded into the thicket, calling Don all the time, and at last was rewarded. He leaped at me delightedly, and barked, and tugged at my trouser legs, and piloted me to the terrified donkey which I found tangled in a mass of wild raspberry bushes, his head tucked between his forelegs, and his back doubled up like a cat at bay. There were no bees on Mac.
That was a hot experience, for a raw March day. I plodded on through the mire to the house, whose proprietor had come to my rescue. The dooryard was filled with hives.
"Regular bee ranch," I remarked, pleasantly, though I burned uncomfortably.
"Yas. Right smart business," the man returned.
"You're right; bees do a smart business."
"Lived on 'em nigh ten years."
"You must find them a hot diet!" I said. "I lived on a nest of them less than half a minute and nearly burned up."
"I reckon so," he replied with a chuckle. "I saw yer scorchin'."
It was 2:30 P. M. when we crossed the state line. The first sight that greeted my eyes in Indiana was a flock of Ohio geese just ahead of us, being driven by a hoosier.
"Fine drove of geese you've got there," I said to the man.
"Yaw," he answered. "But Ohio geese is peculiar. Gooses won't run with th' ganders."
"No?" I queried. "What's the reason they won't?"
"Wall, jest th' way they's built. Won't run—jest fly, er waddle."
"What most all geese do, don't they?" I asked, much amused.
"Yaw," reiterated the hoosier, grinning; "jest fly, or waddle."
CHAPTER XVI.
All the devils are here
All the devils are here
Get money; still get money, boy, no matter by what means.—Ben Jonson.
Indiana swamps, woodland, corn fields and log cabins were not unlike those of Ohio. On arriving in New Haven two hours after dark, I was quite tired out, and I think my companions were, too. We had tramped all day without dinner over a road alternately hard and muddy. I would have stopped to rest at a small place called Zulu, but the name sounded so cannibalistic that I looked to my firearms and hurried past.
Next day I registered in Fort Wayne. After calling on the genial Mayor, I set out to inspect the city and see what my chances were, for I found the outlook for my delivering a lecture discouraging, and, although for several days I had barely made expenses, did not attempt money-making there.
Fort Wayne is notable for its great car-shops and the Indiana School for the Feeble Minded. In the morning I boarded a car and rode a mile and a half out of town to the latter. The large building of brick and terra cotta, viewed in its expansive setting of well-groomed lawn and gay parterres, presented a picture of architectural beauty.
The superintendent welcomed me cordially, although it was not visitors' day, and graciously showed me through the interesting institution. Its neatness, the clock-work regularity with which the several departments are conducted, and the great variety and detail of the mode of instruction given the 550 idiotic inmates were a revelation to me. Many of the advanced scholars were making and mending their clothes and bedding; something I couldn't do, I fear. The idiots are carefully attended day and night. Never before did I see a natural-born bald-headed person. Here was one, a funny-looking girl, and I was told she had several brothers, sisters, parents, uncles and aunts, all bald from birth—a distinguished family indeed. I wondered whether her disappointment was as great as that of Pye Pod, who once possessed a head of hair, then lost it. I have heard it said people who never had money know not its value, and presume its so with their heirs.
For mortals deprived of reason the place is surprisingly quiet. The halls are tiled, the floors of the rooms are waxed, and all are so slippery that the inmates are unable to romp, which is probably the reason for such stillness. Whenever they gain sense enough to be boisterous like sane and healthy children, they instantly fall on their craniums on the polished floor and are rendered insensible.
I was interested in a group of little girls who were being taught a game. One wee child with a big head—bigger than I had ever been accredited with—was sitting in an invalid's chair with her head resting in an iron prop, because it was too heavy for one body to support in those hard times, and seated around in ordinary chairs were epileptic, paralytic, cross-grained idiots, etc., so far advanced toward health and sanity by careful training as to play a game.
While the great object of this school is to provide the unfortunates with a comfortable home and prevent intermarriage, a few are graduated every year and transferred to the large farm owned by the institution. I heard the Feeble Minded Brass Band play; its music I thought quite equal to that of many normal bands I had heard. The birthdays of great men (excepting that of Pythagoras Pod), are celebrated, and birthday parties given.
The superintendent drove me back to town and urged me to fetch my donkey out to entertain the idiots, and invited me to dine with him. So not telling Mac about the place, I rode him to the Home, where I found my host and his assistants ready to receive us.
"Shylock there will assist you," said the superintendent, pointing to a hump-backed inmate.
When we got Mac to the hall entrance the circus began. Two attendants helped Shylock boost the donkey while I guided his head, and we managed to pitch the beast headlong into the slippery hall, where he landed three times in succession—first, on his knees and heels, second, on his tail, and third, on his back. I think he imagined he was on ice, for he lay perfectly still, afraid to move.
The hall floor was cleared, but a bunch of idiotic heads stuck out of every doorway, and peals of hyenish laughter reverberated through the building. Finally we got Mac on all fours, and I rode him slowly down the hall amid the hysterical shouts and screams of the physically strong, if feeble-minded children, and talking, yelling and commanding attendants, all of which so frightened my sensitive mount that he squatted down on the floor, rolled over on his side, and brayed. Did you ever hear an ass bray in any confined space? It is awful! These unmanageable pupils and their overtaxed preceptors fairly went mad, while Mac yelled, "Hell is empty, and all the devils are here!"
The hall was now a swarming, uncontrollable mass of unbridled lunacy in human mould; romping, tumbling, fainting, and taxing the united strength and strategy of the surprised officials to bring order out of chaos. The jackass went into a veritable fit, kicked the plaster off the walls, shattered an incandescent light globe, nearly rolled on top of an idiot who took him for a pussy cat, and brayed himself hoarse. Suddenly he leaped to his feet and ran akiting down the tiled hall floor until it turned; then he tried to turn, and flopping off his feet, came down on his vertebrÆ. As soon as we could get him out of doors, I handed him over to Shylock and went into dinner with the laughing superintendent. I never want another experience like that. The disappointing feature about the show was that probably not one idiot would remember it over to the next day.
The following morning my party set out over a black muddy road. Thrifty looking farm-houses, many of them of brick, were scattered along our route, and sheep and cattle basked in the sunshine on the south side of strawstacks, often attracting wistful glances from my long-eared partner. Arriving at Churubusco, I put up at a comfortable hotel near the railroad where the noisy passing trains kept me awake most of the night, and resumed the journey next day, after lunch.
Some four miles beyond the village we came to a new iron bridge, without its approaches filled in. No workmen were about. A single two-by-twelve plank was stretched from the bank to the bridge at both ends to enable people to cross, but evidently quadrupeds were supposed to ford or swim the stream. I tarried some moments thinking what best to do, when presently a countryman happened by, and helped me carry a plank from the roadside to widen the bridge approach for my donkey to walk.
What an ass Mac was! He attempted to walk the planks sideways, and consequently fell into the deep miry hole, almost into the stream. I feared he had broken his back, but he escaped injury. The farmer helped me uncinch the saddle and get Mac up the steep bank on to the road; then we transferred the plank at the other end of the bridge to that end and made a three-plank foot-bridge. Finally we got Mac on to the bridge proper, and by transferring the three planks to the other end I managed to overcome the obstacle, and proceeded on the journey, after the loss of two hours. My hat had anticipated the animal into the hole and was flattened by his weight; thereafter it supported a gable roof.
Two hours after dark we came to a barn that looked roomy and airy, and as the next town beyond Wolf Lake was so far away, I concluded we might as well take possession of it for the night. The barn door wasn't locked, so I led my animals in, and struck a match. No horses were visible, but a box stall contained a cow and a calf. Prowling about with lighted matches, I discovered a buck sheep, hiding behind his wool in fear of my big dog. I found a measure of grain for Mac and assigned Don to a pile of hay near the door, then tucked myself in some straw and drew my mackintosh over my shoulders, prepared for a night's rest.
I was almost asleep when the calf bawled; again when on the brink of Lethe, the sheep bleated. Suddenly my restless donkey kicked a board off the side of the barn and set Don to barking. I yelled, "Shut up!" Again the dog barked. The next second he made a leap in the dark, followed by a loud commotion, and at once the atmosphere indicated plainly what kind of an animal the dog was after. I couldn't get out of the door without running the lines, which seemed perilous indeed. Mac kicked and brayed as he never had before, and my dog was running round the barn trying to get away from the atmosphere or something. And I was as busy as the rest endeavoring to bury myself in the straw. Presently the dog and the buck sheep went to settling some misunderstanding, fighting like demons. The cow and calf then began to bellow in a discordant duet, and fearing lest any moment the cow would break the bars of her stall and enter the general fray, I dug all the harder in the straw. All at once, amid the obscured exciting scene and above the tumult, I detected an agonizing groan, and suspected Don was squeezing the life out of the sheep or the calf or the nuisance; but when it was all over and I heard the victim gasping in its death throes, it was plain that my dog had shaken all the strength out of our unwelcomed guest.
It was impossible for me to go asleep in that great, airy barn. I crawled out of the straw, and got my donkey out of doors as quickly as possible. As for Don, I felt indifferent about his joining our company, if he proposed to be familiar. On over the deserted highway we groped our way; the dog sneezing, coughing and rolling by the roadside, the half-suffocated jackass breathing hard and braying faintly for more air, and I soliloquizing vociferously about the existence of useless creatures.
The wind blowing head on, I kept some distance ahead of Mac, and threw mud and stones at the dog, which now seemed particularly fond of his master, and continued my tirade against such obnoxious things as we had lately run against.
"Every creature has some redeeming virtue," Mac A'Rony remarked after a while. "Above all things, don't belittle the skunk; he's the best financier in the world. He could go into the Stock Exchange and bull the market with one scent, and all the members together couldn't bear it." Mac was ever doling out to me unwelcome philosophy under trying circumstances.
We reached Ligonier, a fine little town eleven miles away, the next day in time for one o'clock dinner. Since entering Indiana I had not made expenses; and my little reserve fund was vanishing. I had been told that Ligonier was a moneyed town, and its people liberal; so I tried to secure a hall for a lecture, but failing, I spoke my piece in the street. Fully two hundred persons assembled to hear me, and encored enthusiastically. I concluded with passing my hat and collecting 32 cents. I talked again three hours later on the same spot, and was rewarded with a contribution of three cents. I think that collection for a lecture is a record-breaker.
Goshen was reached next day by 5 P. M. The Scripture speaks of Goshen as the land "flowing with milk and honey," but as I have been told, I am somewhat rusty on Biblical history. At any rate, I looked forward to replenish my depleted exchequer here, if I had to resort to extreme measures. Before retiring, I made up my mind I was going to be awfully disappointed with Goshen. The people of the section of country I had threaded from the Ohio boundary were incredulous, superstitious, penurious and suspicious, and those characteristics seemed to reach their superlative in that particular town.
Monday dawned still and sunny—an ideal day for hanging out clothes, but not shingles. I hung out mine, nevertheless; it was essential to Mac's welfare and to mine, to say nothing of the dog's.
A drummer showed deep interest in my pilgrimage, and I asked him how he made out with his business. I had failed signally. He said he was glad I spoke to him on the subject, and drew me aside.
"See all the thrifty-looking wagon-teams hitched on the two sides of the Court House Square?" said he; "See those squads of grangers standing around waiting for something to turn up? Well, every stranger is looked upon with suspicion. If he attempts to drum up a new business among these fossils, he is immediately branded a 'fake.' After I had made two unsuccessful trips to this section, I vowed I would make the third one a success. A fake article sold by a first-class imitation drummer would just about catch these people. And ever since that day I have been unloading on them, and reaping a big harvest. Do you see the moral?"
I said I did, and thanked him. After lunch, during which I was accredited extremely thoughtful, I drew my friend aside and whispered, "I have it. I'll buy some axle-grease, and mix it with sweet oil, and sell it for eye salve!" The drummer eyed me as he might a wonderful character, felt of my head, and said I'd win out. At once I went to a drug-store for some pill boxes, blank labels and perfume, and to a hardware store for axle-grease and sweet oil; then retired to my hotel room, and mixed my "Eye Elixir."
As soon as my magic healing wares were ready to put on the market, I hunted up a sore-eyed tramp I had seen on the street that day, and promising him a percentage of my receipts, got him to assist me to get even with the folks he, too, had a grudge against. When I was fairly started on my eloquent talk about the virtues of "Eye Elixir," the tramp walked up with the quarter I had given him, and asked for "another box," saying to the crowd, he'd been looking for me all over the country and was glad to find me, for his eyes being almost well from using the first box began to get worse when he had no more salve, which was the only thing that ever helped his sore eyes. He said, if he could afford it, he would lay in a lot of it for future use, not knowing where he could get any more. Then a boy stepped up and bought a box, and an old woman bought two boxes, and the sales proceeded so fast when once started that I soon sold out, and took in $7, selling twenty-seven boxes of "Eye Elixir" besides the box I had sold to the tramp. I paid him one dollar for his services, with which he was delighted. This left me a net profit, after deducting the cost of making the salve, of $4.90, paying my expenses in town and leaving me a small balance. Then I cleared out of Goshen as quickly as possible. Oh, Shakespeare, how truthfully you said, "What fools these mortals be!"
I resolved that when I should return East I would go by ship around the Horn, or by train across the Isthmus, or else choose a trans-continental route which would give that section, honied and milked by Pye Pod, a wide berth.
CHAPTER XVII.
Darkest hour before dawn
Darkest hour before dawn
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.
CHAPTER XVIII.
Champagne avenue, Chicago
Champagne avenue, Chicago
The whole duty of man is to be a mother.—Jerome K. Jerome.
One week of gamboling in sporty, wide-awake Chicago, and of high-life on the top floor of the Auditorium, put me in fine fettle to resume travel. My second morning at the popular hotel I indited this note to an Eastern friend; "Breakfasted to-day on the roof, got a shine in the cellar, and met everybody half way."
For nearly five months, through severe winter and early spring weather, I had hustled as I never had before to make ends meet; now I had swum the Hellespont to a prosperous shore, the remainder of my long, slow journey looked more enticing. Several valuable and useful articles were presented to me by wealthy admirers in the Windy City, who also dined me, took me to the theatre and entertained me in other ways.
One evening I was pleasantly surprised to be escorted to a champagne dinner given by my friend Williams, of the Union News Company of New York, to several prominent business men of the West. When the sumptuous repast was well under way he unpinned from the lapel of my coat a button containing a photo of Pod seated on Mac, and paid me a five dollar bill for it; and, learning I had a stock of buttons in pocket, the other guests followed suit. Such wholesale generosity was as overwhelming as my gratitude.
The man with whom I contracted to advertise gave me a donkey, which I named Cheese, to go with Mac A'Rony. And so delighted was Mac with this new comrade to share his burdens that, on my approval, he agreed henceforth to contribute to the papers every other letter on our travels to the coast, and so enable me to devote more time to bread-winning.
Easter morning I found a blue hen's egg at my plate. I was pleased with the remembrance and had the clerk place it in my letter-box. When I called at noon for my mail, I was told the egg had visited most all of the letter boxes, each guest in turn having disclaimed it; so, when at six o'clock I called for the egg to take it to my room for safe keeping, and was handed instead a parcel that smelled of chicken, I was not surprised; however, upon opening it, I could not conceal my astonishment.
"Mr. Pod," said the clerk, gravely, "the egg was handled so much that it naturally hatched. Certainly you are not surprised?"
"Not surprised that it hatched," I returned, to be reasonable, "but this is fried chicken, and the egg was boiled."
My Easter dinner with friends on Champlain avenue made me realize somewhat the stupor a boa-constrictor experiences after having swallowed an ox. My friend Bob B—— urged me to make his home my transitory abode, arguing that perhaps while at the hotel I was cheated of needed rest by yielding too much to entertainment by well-meaning acquaintances. He gave me a key to the house, showed me my room, and told me to drop in any time, day or night, and make myself at home.
Having promised to call on an elderly gentleman who had been very kind to me, I spent that evening with his family. Before leaving I had made great friends with his little granddaughter, and promised to call again and bring her some candy. "I want circus candy, the kind with rings around it," she explained, drawing imaginary circles round her finger.
When I reached my hotel the clerk said several gentlemen were waiting to see me. I was sleepy; besides, I felt I had caught cold and should doctor it at once. Explaining to the clerk that I was indisposed and begged to be excused to my callers, I slipped out of the door and hurried to a drug store. "A good drink of calisaya will fix you," said the drug clerk, who explained it was well charged with quinine, but failed to mention it was also well charged with alcohol. I drank two glasses of it, then boarded a car for Champlain avenue.
Before reaching my destination I fell asleep. But the conductor was thoughtful enough to awaken me and assist me to alight. I was so dizzy from sleepiness, I couldn't walk straight. I soon got my bearings, though, and reached Bob's house by experiencing sensations of treading a moving sidewalk, promenading a steamer deck in a high sea, and circumnavigating a crystal maze.
I found the door-knob but not the key-hole. We had been having damp weather, and I reasoned that perhaps the key-hole had shrunk shut. I searched my pockets for matches, and found enough wooden toothpicks to kindle my wrath. While I was fuming, a policeman came to my relief.
"Who be you, young feller?" he interrogated.
"Pyth (hic) thagoras Pod," I answered, civilly; and offering him the key, added, "Won't you open the (hic) door for me?"
"You don't live here, then," said the cop.
"I know (hic) it," I admitted. "Just visiting friends."
"Are you sure you know where you are at?" he queried, sternly.
"No (hic), I'm not sure," I said feebly, "but I think I'm on Champlain avenue."
"More like champagne," he returned, sourly. "What's the number of the house?"
"I forget it," I answered, "I know the house (hic), though, when I see it."
"I think you came here for business," said the officer. "You better come with me." And he locked his arm in mine.
"Let me ring (hic) up the folks," I pleaded. "They'll identify me." The cop stopped, hesitated, and, doubtlessly deeming prudence the better part of valor, "let." When I took my thumb off the electric button the household must have thought Chicago burning again. I heard Bob tumble half way down stairs; and, when he opened the door and identified me and saw me stagger in, he took another tumble. The third was taken by the disappointed cop, who hurried off to his proper beat.
Conscious of my inebriated condition, I was much embarrassed that my friend should find me in such a state at that late hour. He asked me no questions, and I told him no lies. When he had assisted me to bed, he turned out the gas, which likely I should have blown out, and left me to prayerful meditation. My late propensity to sleep had vanished. My brain was a whirling wilderness. The more I thought about that temperance drink of calisaya, the less respect I had for the principles of prohibition. I scored temperance societies, darned Salvation Armies, and cursed the birth of Matthews, who invented the soda fountain. Before long I was in a sweat. The red beverage was evidently breaking up my cold, but that wasn't all. It broke me up; it had broken the slumbers of my host; I was sure it had broken up my good reputation for sobriety.
I was too nervous to sleep. Thinks I, "A hot bath will just fix me. I'll get up and take one."
I rose and hunted for matches, but couldn't find any. Piece by piece, I scraped several ornaments off the mantel to the floor, one bronze Mozart statuette doing some effective work on my big toe that I had intended a chiropodist to do. Next I fell over a center-table, and upset a glass vase on the floor, which broke its neck; then I tumbled over a rocker and wondered that I didn't break mine. Still bent upon reaching the bath room, I bent my nose against an opened closet door. I was mad. At last, finding the exit of my chamber, I groped my way into the hall, then hesitated. I thought I remembered the location of the bath room; I was under the impression my bedroom was on the third floor. In reaching for the balusters, I almost lost my balance. My head still whirling like a dancing Dervish. Slowly and dizzily I felt my way down stairs until I came to a door—the bath room door, I supposed. I opened it gently, groped my way in, and put my bare foot on a napkin-ring, which proceeded to roll away, landing me flat on the floor. Then the folding door swung to with a bang. I feared my friends would think burglars were in the house.
But I found the tub all right. I turned the faucets, and was pleased to have both run cold water, for I burned as with a fever. But, when I started to climb into the tub, I found I had either grown shorter in stature, or the tub had been raised. Perhaps it was managed by automatic machinery. I knew nothing about machinery; so with great effort I climbed up and into the tub, but found greater difficulty to get all of me in it. I reasoned that the dimensions of the contracted bath-tub must be all right, but the expansions of my head were wrong; I was intoxicated by a temperance drink, and had heard that it was the worst kind to get tipsy on. I made another heroic effort to jam my body into the tub, but some of me would always lap over the edges. I reasoned that, if I were sober, there would surely be room for three to swim comfortably about that bathtub. Cold water ran from the faucets for some time and I was considerably cooled off, when, suddenly, one faucet began to run hot water. Instead of turning off the water, in my excitement I tried to climb out of the tub, but was wedged so tightly in it a hasty escape was impracticable, and before I fell out on the floor my left leg was scalded. There were no pillows where I dropped, so the next moment the door swung open and the gleam of a lighted match shone in my face. I saw my host, with countenance as white as his nightshirt, suddenly assume a rosy hue, then I heard him giggle. I was glad he saw some humor in it, for I failed to. In one hand he held an old army musket, and I told him not to shoot. Sitting on the floor, I now saw plainly that it was the butler's pantry and not the bath room, and that I had taken a bath in the sink.
Bob, on gaining my room, put some salve on my scald, and wound my limb with the first handkerchief he came across, and I was soon fast asleep.
Next morning I remembered my promise to buy some candy for my little friend and visited a confectioner. It was a big store, and three salesladies tried to wait upon me.
"I wish the spiral-striped peppermint, kind of circus candy," I explained. "It's for a little tot I am fond of."
"I understand," said the girl, "but we haven't it,—but wait a minute."
Before I realized what she meant, she had dashed out the door, presumably to the store two doors away. I was sorry she took such trouble to please a poor patron. Soon she reappeared with a crystal jar of the long stick candy I desired, and dumping a pound of it on the scales, inquired, "How much do you wish?"
"Oh, one stick will do," I said. "She's a delicate child; I don't want to make her sick."
The girl almost dropped the jar. Then recovering her mental equilibrium, she asked, while refilling the jar from the scales:
"Will you take it with you, or have it sent?"
I blinked. "Take it with me, I guess," was my reply. As she wrapped the stick of candy, I reached in my pocket for the penny. Then I felt weak; I hadn't a cent.
"I-I-I-I declare!" I exclaimed. "I left all my money with the hotel clerk; I'll be back directly."
And out I rushed into the street where there was more air. By the time I got to the hotel and back I was willing to buy five pounds of candy. I no sooner entered the store than the girl, with a smothered smile, said, "We sent the candy to the hotel." Now I was embarrassed. "What hotel?" I inquired.
"Why, the Auditorium!" she giggled. "You're Mr. Pye Pod, aren't you? The proprietor said so, and appreciating your immense purchase, desired to spare you all the inconvenience possible."
I heard laughter in the office as I closed the door behind me. I dreaded to face the hotel clerk. As I strolled up street, I thought what a poor mother I would make even to one little child, and tried to fancy the awful strain on Washington to be such a good father to his whole country.
There was one thing that worried me generally when my meals were over; my hat. I feared I should lose it. The hat boy, clever as he was, by mistake might give it to another. Always when he handed it to me I stopped to examine it carefully, to make sure it wasn't one of the stylish tiles which had presumed to associate with it on the rack. It was customary for me to question the custodian of hats in this manner: "Is this my hat?" "Are you sure it is?"
When, Tuesday evening, my odd-looking stove-pipe was handed me, I examined it incredulously, eyed the colored man, then stepping in front of a natty-groomed gentleman of fifty, who had just received his latest Dunlap from the custodian, I scrutinized his hat inquisitively, then my own, and eyed him inquiringly, as much as to say, "Are you sure our hats have not become exchanged?" The dignified guest did not take kindly to my manner. He frowned, even looked savage. The darkey seemed to think it funny, and laughed in his hand, with back turned. I accompanied the old gentleman down in the elevator, to the office, where we picked our teeth.
Then I addressed the clerk in injured tones: "I have a complaint to make."
"Let's have it," said the genial Harry.
"That black, blue-brown hat custodian at the dining room is forever getting my tile mixed with those of other guests. I hate to make a fuss, but——"
"You are quite right, Mr. Pod," said the clerk, seriously, "A first-class hotel should not tolerate such inefficiency in a trusted employee. I'll discharge the fellow at once."
I stepped away, contented, and lighted my cigar.
Then the stately gentleman addressed the clerk: "Who in —— is that fellow? He's off his trolley! He thought this hat of mine was his, and that rusty antediluvian, dilapidated specimen he wears was mine. What's his name?"
"Why, Professor Pythagoras Pod, of course. Didn't you recognize him? Everybody knows him. He knows his hat, too, and don't you forget it. Offer him fifty dollars for his old tile, and see how quickly he'll refuse it." The outraged dignitary shrank into his clothes, and, with a wry glance in my direction, walked away. The custodian of hats kept his job, but I never saw the stylish gentleman again.
