Twenty Years of Hus'ling
Chicago, Dr. S. W. Ingraham, whose office is now on South Clark Street.
He had been called there to perform a surgical operation, and being
obliged to spend an hour or two in the hotel office before taking a
return train, he became an interested listener to several stories told
by a couple of drummers and myself. He finally told one or two which
convinced us that we had struck an old-timer. After we had related some
personal experiences I learned, to my great delight, that the Doctor's
experience had been almost as varied as my own. He began by relating the
different kinds of business he had engaged in while a young man; but he
was unable to mention a single thing that I hadn't embarked in and of
which I could show up a smattering of knowledge.
Finally he said:
"Now, Johnston, I am going to head you off right here."
"What is it, Doctor? I am anxious to know what it is."
"Well sir, I'll bet you never made a political speech, and I stumped
Ohio during one campaign and made one speech a night for ten consecutive
weeks."
"I can beat that. I stumped Ohio for Hayes and Tilden, and made two
speeches on the platform for one consecutive night."
"But how could you speak for Hayes and Tilden? One was a Democrat and
the other a Republican."
"No matter, I did it anyhow, and all in the same speech, too."
And to prove the correctness of my statement, as the Doctor seemed a
little incredulous, I jumped to my feet and delivered a part of my
Republican speech and then a part of the Democratic, and then headed him
off by relating my experience running a fruit stand, the three days with
a side-show, besides one or two other ventures. When I told him I was an
auctioneer he at once became interested in me, as he had been one
himself in his younger days. I quickly satisfied him that I could sell
at auction, and he likewise convinced me that he "had been there." I
then narrated the ups and downs I had had, and showed up my books for
the winter's losses, and how I had just sent my late partner about all
the money I had. He asked my plans for the future. I told him about my
furniture polish, and that it was always a sure thing. He listened
attentively, and after a moment's reflection said:
"But the time of year is just coming when you could make money fast if
you had a nice auction stock."
"I know that; and another thing I know is just how to do it now, as I
have paid well for my experience."
"Well," said the Doctor, surprising me as he reached down into his
pocket and produced a roll of bills, "I am going to loan you one hundred
dollars, and I know you will pay it back before three months."
I thanked him, but told him fifty dollars would answer, as I could get
along nicely and would prefer to commence as low down as I dared. He
insisted that a hundred would be none too much, but I declined to accept
more than fifty, and immediately sent to Chicago for a stock of just
such goods as I felt certain would sell well and not be too bulky.
I assured the Doctor that if I were successful I would pay him back, and
if I was not I would never cross the street to shun him when I came to
Chicago, but would surely call on him and acknowledge the debt, anyhow.
I had heard and read of men like Doctor Ingraham, but he was the first
of his kind that I had ever met; and realizing that such friendship
could not be valued too highly, I determined to not only repay him, but
to let him have the satisfaction of knowing sooner or later that the
start he gave me had developed into something of consequence.
After he bade me farewell and started for home, I was at a loss to know
what to do while waiting for my goods, and had almost concluded to have
a few bottles of polish made up with which to make a few dollars, when a
young man appeared at the hotel with a very peculiar-looking cylindrical
instrument in a box. I was curious to know what it was, and as he looked
rather tired and sorry, I ventured to inquire what he had in there. He
answered:
"Oh, it's nothing but a 'talking machine.'"
I was fairly dumfounded, and thought perhaps he was casting a slur, as I
had been doing considerable talking. At any rate I felt that whether he
was telling the truth or not, I had a right to take exceptions.
If he had meant to slur me, I would be insulted.
If he had told the truth, I had a right to oppose unfair competition.
I then demanded an explanation, and assured him that I did nothing else
_but_ talk, and considered I had a perfect right to investigate any sort
of a machine that would be at all likely to monopolize the business.
He then took the cover off the box and showed me an Edison phonograph,
which he had gotten in exchange for a horse. He had come on there
expecting to meet his cousin, who was to furnish the money, and they
were going to travel and exhibit it.
I asked him to "set 'er going" and let me hear it spout an hour or two.
He said it would take several minutes to arrange it, besides he didn't
like to use up any more tin foil than was necessary, as he hadn't much
on hand.
I asked him what he thought of doing. He said he didn't know, but
guessed he'd go back home if his cousin didn't come.
"Why can't you and I give an exhibition?" I asked.
"Where will we give it?"
"Suppose we go to some country school-house a few miles out and give a
show to-morrow evening?"
"All right, I'm willing. I have plenty of small hand-bills."
"Then we'll hire a team to-morrow morning and drive out to some
thickly-settled neighborhood and advertise it. You're sure it'll talk,
are you?"
"Talk? You bet it'll talk!"
The next morning we were up and ready for business, and, after hiring a
horse and wagon, started out.
After driving several miles, we found a place where we thought it would
pay to stop, and upon inquiring for the school directors, were referred
to a farmer living near by.
We called on him, and after stating our business and promising himself
and family passes, were given an order on the school-teacher for the
key, when she had locked up for the day. We drove directly there, where
we found nearly forty scholars in attendance.
After making the teacher's acquaintance and explaining our business, she
gave us permission to deliver a circular to each one present, and to
make an announcement.
This I managed to do, and stated to them that if I had time after the
performance with the talking machine, I would deliver a lecture on
Telegraphy, and explain the manner of sending messages, and how
batteries were made, and how long it would take a message to travel from
New York to San Francisco.
My idea, of course, was to represent as much of an attraction as
possible, as I felt certain that if we got them there, and got the
machine to talking once, they would forget all about Telegraphy.
On our way out my partner had drilled me on what to say to the
Phonograph in order to have the words reproduced distinctly. He said it
was necessary to use a certain set of words that I could speak very
distinctly, and that would be penetrating, and recommended the
following:
"Dickery-dickery-dock,
The-mouse-ran-up-the-clock,
The-clock-struck-one,
And the-mouse-ran-down,
Dickery-dickery-dock."
After making arrangements at this school-house, we started out and
visited two other districts and advertised our performance. The result
was that people came from all directions, in carriage and wagon loads.
They had all heard or read of Edison's talking machine, and were anxious
to see and hear it.
The house was packed, and we took in over forty dollars at the door.
At eight o'clock I announced everything ready for the exhibition, and
requested all to remain as quiet as possible throughout the performance.
Of course I was as ignorant of the manner of manipulating the talking
machine as any one of the audience.
I didn't know whether the thing had to be "blowed up" or "wound up," and
was obliged to leave it all with my partner, who seemed perfectly
confident of its success.
After arranging the tin foil he took hold of the crank, began turning,
and instructed me to place my mouth over the instrument and speak my
little piece about the mouse and clock. After finishing, I stepped back
to await results.
He turned the crank, and the thing gave just one unearthly, agonizing
groan and, I imagined, rolled its eyes back, and gasping for breath,
died a natural death.
The audience showed a look of disappointment. I endeavored to convince
them by my careless, indifferent manner that it was only a common
occurrence, and that all would soon be right.
My partner tried to laugh it off and make believe it was a good joke,
but I noticed very quickly large drops of perspiration standing on his
forehead as he busied himself in trying to fix the machine.
At last he was ready to try it again, and instructed me to speak louder
and more distinctly than I did before. I was determined that he should
not lay the blame to me for not talking loud enough, and therefore used
all the strength and power of lungs and voice that I could command. The
result was less satisfactory than before, for not a sound could we get
from it.
The audience began to show impatience, and from different words and
expressions that came from them we were convinced that they were not
going to submit easily to anything but an exhibition of some kind.
By this time my partner had taken off his coat and vest, although it was
really cold enough for an overcoat, and the perspiration was fairly
dripping from him. He was much excited and I wasn't feeling any too gay
myself.
We began working on the machine together, which gave us a chance to
converse in an undertone. I asked if he had ever tried to run it before.
He said no, but he was certain he knew how.
I told him it really looked as though he must have boarded and roomed
with Edison when he conceived the idea of making the thing.
"Are you positively certain it ever did talk?"
"I know it has talked."
"Did you ever hear it?"
"No, but my cousin did."
"Great Scott, man! you don't know whether this is a Phonograph or a
washing-machine; and I am certain it looks more like the latter. What
are we going to do?"
He said he guessed we'd better give back the money and let them go.
"Yes, that would be a bright thing! Do you suppose I'd give back this
money? Not much."
"Well, but we'll have to. What can we do?"
"What can we do? Well sir, we've got to do something to entertain these
people and hold their money, if you and I have to give them a double
song and dance."
"My gracious, Johnston, I can't dance!"
"But you have got to dance. I can't dance either, but this is a
'ground-hog case,' and we've got to dance and sing too."
"I guess I'll announce to them that you will favor them with a song and
single clog, and then we will appear together."
As I stepped to the table I heard him say:
"I'll take my hat and run!"
Then, stepping to the front, I said:
"Ladies and gentlemen, I hope you will be patient with us a few
moments. The trouble is just this: We brought the Phonograph over here
in an open wagon, and as the weather has been cold and damp, and we
forgot to keep the thing blanketed, it took a severe cold, which seems
to have settled on its lungs, rendering it unable to speak above a
whisper. But with your kind indulgence we hope to doctor it up and be
ready to give you a nice exhibition in a few moments."
Of course I expected our audience to laugh at and ridicule the idea of
its taking cold, and was surprised that not a single person cracked a
smile, but, on the contrary, every one seemed to gaze at the instrument
with a look of sympathy.