Twenty Years of Hus'ling
and your dubbing me Doctor, I never would have thought of becoming a
physician. As it is, I am anxious to remain here during the winter and
attend medical lectures at Hahnemann College, and I know of no one
better able to loan me the money to do it with, than you."
"All right, Dr. Frank; you can call around every Saturday, when we are
paying off our help, and draw enough to meet your weekly expenses."
It is not necessary to say that he never missed a pay day.
It will be remembered that he had previously spent one winter attending
lectures at Ann Arbor. The following spring myself and wife by
invitation attended the commencement exercises of the college, and had
the pleasure of seeing him graduate, a full-fledged Doctor.
As I witnessed this little scene, the picture of Frank while pulling the
old woman's leg, and the knowing look he gave her after the ankle popped
back into its socket, came vividly before me. It seemed more like a
dream than a reality, when I shook him by the hand and congratulated him
on being a genuine M. D. He is now a successful practitioner at Baldwin,
Michigan, and has made an especially good record as a surgeon.
Experiencing but little difficulty in building up a lucrative practice,
he was not long in repaying me the amount borrowed for college expenses.
About this time Mr. Keefer made his first and only visit to Chicago,
accompanied by my mother and my son Frankie. Mr. Keefer had been
desirous for some time of visiting the city, to see how "that boy"
managed his business. On their arrival, I escorted them to my store,
when, after looking over the several clerks and book-keepers, Mr. Keefer
asked:
"Who are all these people working for?"
"Why, they are working for me."
Just then the postman came in with a large package of letters, and when
I began opening them, and extracting money orders, drafts, checks and
currency, he gazed steadily for a few moments and said:
"Is that all money, Perry?"
"Certainly; checks and drafts are as good as cash."
"But where do you get it from?"
"From Maine to California, and from Manitoba to Mexico."
He looked on quietly for a few moments, and turning to my mother, said:
"Well, it does beat the devil."
I took a great deal of pleasure in showing him the city, and escorting
him to the many places of interest and amusement. My mother had often
visited the larger cities, and was not so much interested as he was.
Although it was his first visit, I paid him the compliment of appearing
more accustomed to city life than any person I had ever seen who had
never before been away from his own neighborhood. From his cool,
unexcitable, matter-of-fact way, one would have supposed that he had
always been inured to the excitement and bustle of the city.
On the first pleasant day after their arrival, I took Mr. Keefer a whirl
down the boulevard, behind a handsome pair of chestnut-sorrel horses
which I had dealt for a few days before. As we went dashing along at a
lively rate he hung to his hat with one hand and to the buggy with the
other, and asked what such a team cost me. When I answered his question,
he said:
"That team is worth more than all the horses we ever had on our farm at
any one time. Well, I always said you'd 'get there' some day, Perry."
A few days prior to his visit, I had made a trade for a half interest in
a livery and sale stable, owned and run by an old acquaintance named
Kintz, who is mentioned in the seventh chapter of this book. He is the
man who was running a bakery at Clyde, and whose gold watch I traded to
the Telegraph Operator, receiving five dollars to boot from each of
them, which I placed to my own credit as middleman.
John had come on to Chicago and opened this stable, after several years'
experience in a Michigan town in the same business, and I had made a
deal with him for a half interest.
After Mr. Keefer and I had finished our ride, I drove the team to our
barn, and jumping out, ordered them taken care of; and as my partner was
away, I also began giving orders about the general business, and
reprimanded one of the hostlers for neglecting his work.
Mr. Keefer was unable to understand the meaning of this, and finally
asked what right I had to be ordering those men around.
I told him I owned a half interest in the business.
He gazed at me a moment, and in his usual good-natured manner, said:
"Well it does beat the devil."
The recollection of this visit affords me a great deal of satisfaction
now, as he died about a year afterwards. When visiting me he showed the
keenest interest in my success, and declared that since his own had not
been what he had desired, he was now only anxious to live long enough
to see what the outcome of my business would be, and he continued to
evince this same interest up to the very day of his death.
After the Physicians had given him up he requested them to telegraph me
at once, which they did, and he fought for forty-eight hours against
falling asleep, fearing, as he claimed, that he might not arouse
sufficiently to recognize "that boy" when he should arrive.
A few months after Mr. Keefer's visit to Chicago my wife and I were out
riding one Saturday evening, and drove to Woodlawn Park--a Chicago
suburb. She casually remarked that she would like to own a home out
there, and go to housekeeping, as she was tired of boarding. Just as she
had finished expressing herself, we met a gentleman on the street, and I
asked him if he knew of any property for sale there.
He replied: "My name is W. D. True; I am a real estate man and have
three houses right near by for sale," and though it was then quite dark,
he offered to show us one of them if we would drive over on Sheridan
avenue.
We did so and he showed us through the house, to a great disadvantage,
however, as we had no light except an occasional match which he would
strike when calling our attention to some special feature.
I asked his price and terms, and in less than fifteen minutes from the
time I first met him, I had bargained for the property, and instructed
him to call at my office Monday morning with papers to sign, and get a
check for the amount of the first payment.
He appeared rather incredulous, and seemed doubtful of my sincerity, and
when he called on Monday morning as requested, and closed the deal as
agreed upon, he looked me over carefully as though not quite certain of
my sanity, and finally said:
"Well, Mr. Johnston, I have been in the real estate business for a long
time and have transacted business with many different men, but there are
two things I have done with you that I never did before."
"What are they?" I asked.
"Well, I never sold a house in the dark before, nor have I ever closed a
deal of this kind in fifteen minutes before, and never heard of a
similar case, especially with entire strangers."
We took possession on the first of September, and immediately began the
building of a barn which was completed in due time.
We very soon became dissatisfied with suburban life, and anxious to
return to the city; but having expended considerable money in building
the barn, and other improvements, we decided to remain at all hazards.
Six months later one of my most valuable horses was taken sick, and died
on a Saturday morning. On the following Monday, just as I had gotten
settled down to business in my office, I received a telephone message
from a friend at Woodlawn Park, to the effect that my barn was on fire,
but that my horses, harnesses and carriages were all safe.
I immediately said to my wife:
"Well, you can get ready to move now. A horse died Saturday, the barn
burned Monday and we'll move Tuesday."
So saying, I called up my printer, Mr. G. M. D. Libby, by telephone, and
dictated a hand-bill to be printed _immediately_, advertising all of our
household furniture to be sold at auction.
The bills were run off at once, and before the fire engines and crowds
had left the scene of the fire, I was on the ground distributing
circulars.
The question was frequently asked, who was going to be the auctioneer.
I would reply that I thought of trying it myself. This amused the
questioners and I had a large crowd in attendance, many of whom no doubt
came to hear me in my first effort at auctioneering. The evening after
the sale I called at of the grocery stores in the town, and several men
were discussing me as an auctioneer, and all agreed that for a beginner
I did mighty well. One man said that a person would naturally suppose
that the fellow had had years of experience as an auctioneer.
We moved immediately after making the sale, and found a tenant for the
house without any trouble; and as I have been offered an advance of
several hundred dollars on the price I paid for the place, I have had no
reason to regret my hasty purchase. I lost but little on the sale of my
household goods, and collected insurance for a portion of the loss on
the barn, so I came out pretty well after all.
We were glad enough, however, to get back to the city, and rented a
suite of rooms at the Pullman Building, which we still occupy; and being
located near my place of business, we find it much pleasanter, and
waste no time running after and waiting for, suburban trains.
During our residence at Woodlawn Park, we became so accustomed to
running to catch trains, that through force of habit, no matter where we
were, or how far from a Railroad track, the moment we would hear the
sound of a bell ringing, or a steam whistle blowing, our first impulse
was to start on the dead run.
I will here mention the particulars of a trade I made for the barber's
shop, while residing in the suburb.
One day I traded for a small, handsome horse, and the following morning
saddled him and went out for a horse-back ride. On my return I happened
to stop in front of the barber shop, when the tonsorial artist asked how
I'd trade my horse for the shop.
"I'll leave it with you," was my reply.
"I'll trade even."
"All right, sir; it's a bargain. Come and get the horse, and give me the
keys."
So saying, I dismounted and took possession. After mounting the animal,
he said he'd take it to the barn, and return in a few moments and
continue to run the shop for me till I could hire another barber. He
then left me in charge. No sooner had he done so than a well-dressed
stranger came rushing into the shop, threw off his hat and coat, took a
seat in the chair, and said:
"Please hurry up, Mr. Barber, as I want to catch the next train for the
city."
Expecting the barber to return at once, I thought it a good idea to try
and hold my first customer till he should arrive. I therefore threw off
my hat and coat, grabbed the mug, made a lot of lather, and began
daubing it on as thick as possible all over his face. I then wiped it
off, and lathered him again, expecting the barber in every minute to
take the job off my hands.
As he did not come, I was obliged to resort to the towel the second
time, and lather him once more. Then stepping to the door to see if the
barber was visible, and discovering that he was not I returned to my
customer, and wiping off his face began lathering him again. I now saw
that he was getting nervous and anxious, and concluded to try and
entertain him with some sort of a "ghost story." Just as I was trying to
conjure up something to "spring on him" he remarked that I wasn't very
sparing of my soap.
"No, sir. I am not stingy with soap; and by the way, this soap is
different from any you ever saw before. This, sir, is the homa-jona,
radical, tragical, incomprehensible compound extract of the
double-distilled rute-te-tute shaving soap."
I then went on with my auction talk on soap already familiar to the