Nansen's Great Book—"Farthest North"
SCOTT-HANSEN'S OBSERVATORY
Being the Record of a Voyage of Exploration of the Ship Fram (1893-1896), and of a Fifteen Months' Sleigh Expedition by Dr. Nansen and Lieut. Johansen. By Dr. Fridtjof Nansen. With an Appendix by Otto Sverdrup, Captain of the Fram. With over 100 Full-page and Numerous Text Illustrations, Sixteen Colored Plates in Facsimile from Dr. Nansen's own Water-Color, Pastel, and Pencil Sketches, an Etched Portrait, Two Photogravures, and Four Maps. About 1300 pages, 2 Volumes, Large 8vo, Gilt Tops and Uncut Edges, $10.00.
Published by HARPER & BROTHERS, New York
t was at Vicksburg during the war. A company were out on a foraging expedition, when one of the privates, in nosing around the out-houses of a farm, ran across a barrel of prime cider. Now, as the private expressed it, a barrel of prime cider was not to be sneezed at, and with the help of an aged darky he carried it after nightfall into the camp. The next day he went to work rigging up a little counter, and before noon was ready to dispense the refreshing beverage at the small sum of ten cents a cup, according to the rudely scrawled sign outside the tent flap.
Now liquid refreshment was scarce, and with a luxury like cider to soothe the palate it was but a short while before the front of that tent resembled the entrance to a circus. Business was brisk, exceedingly brisk, and the private's arms ached in passing out the cups of cider. His little till was rapidly filling up with coin, when there was a perceptible dwindling in his customers.
The change was alarming, and he looked around for the cause. A loud noise in the rear of his tent attracted his attention, and warily closing up his shop, he walked around. A large crowd had gathered, and after a great deal of struggling he managed to see that another barrel of cider had reached the camp, for in the midst of the crowd he could hear a man shouting, "Here ye are—cider five cents a glass!"
He hastened around to his tent and changed the sign from ten cents to three cents a glass. In a short time the crowd discovered the change, and his business boomed. Then his competitor could be heard shouting, "Here ye are—cider for nothing!"
That settled it: he closed up his tent flap, and went around to see what sort of a man gave cider away. This time he was able to get near, and found, to his astonishment, that his competitor had driven a spigot into the other end of his own barrel, which he had placed so carefully in the rear of the tent.
According to the New York Press, when John C. Reid was managing editor of the Times he had an office-boy whose nerve and cheek were colossal. Greatness never embarrassed him, for he was no respecter of persons. One day he entertained in the reception-room a waiting visitor, whose patronizing way nettled him. All kinds of questions concerning his life and occupation were fired at him, and finally he was asked how much he earned a week. His reply was, "Fifty dollars," which caused the interrogator to whistle. At that moment the visitor was summoned by Reid, to whom he related his experience with an office-boy who said he made fifty dollars a week.
Reid rang bell; enter boy.
"Did you tell this gentleman that you made fifty dollars a week here?"
"I did not tell him any such thing."
"What! You mean to say you didn't tell me a moment or two ago that you made fifty dollars a week?"
"Never said any such thing."
"Why, you little liar! You—"
"What did you tell the gentleman?" put in Reid.
"I told him I earned fifty dollars a week; but you pay me only three dollars."
The visitor was so excited that he forgot his business with the managing editor. When he had taken leave of the office Reid raised the boy's salary to six dollars.
The late Jay Gould used to tell a good story of Mr. William M. Travers. As Mr. Gould related it, he described Mr. Travers's going downtown to a dog-fancier's place in Water Street, New York, in search of a rat-terrier. The dog-fancier scented the value of his possible customer at once, and cheerfully dilated upon the merits of the different canines in stock. Finally, he selected a ratter, assuring Mr. Travers that the dog would go for a rat quicker than lightning. Mr. Travers was rather sceptical as he observed the shivering pup, and the dog-fancier noticing this, said,
"Here, I'll show you how he'll go for a rat," and he put the dog in a box with a big rat. The rat made a dive and laid out that unfortunate terrier in a second. Mr. Travers turned around to the fancier and said,
"I say, Johnny, what will you take for the rat?"
An Oakland, California, bootblack deserves special mention as an honest man who would not deceive his patrons. When he first went into business, six years ago, he put up a sign which read:
"Joe Garibaldi, bootblack. Has two small children."
Each succeeding year found him deserving of more sympathy, for he kept amending the sign, until it read eight small children. A few days ago Joe's bootblack stand was locked for a whole day, and when he returned the next morning, he confided to the butcher's boy that his baby had died. His first work was to amend the sign so that it might not mislead the public, and it then read: "Joe Garibaldi, bootblack. Has seven small children." Then, to avoid being placed in a false position before the public, he added with his finger and shoe-blacking, "One he die."
Senator Voorhees relates a story of emotional eloquence which came to an ignominious end, as Current Literature tells it. He had succeeded in delivering an appeal which had brought tears to the eyes of several jurymen. Then arose the prosecuting attorney, a gruff old man with a piping voice and nasal twang.
"Gentlemen," said he, deliberately helping himself to a pinch of snuff, "you might as well understand from the beginning that I am not boring for water."
This proved so effectual a wet blanket to the emotions excited by Mr. Voorhees that he realized the futility of his own "boring."
"Oh, your song is most annoying,
And unless you take it back,"
Said the Doctor, "I will fire."
But the Duck still shouted: "Quack!
"Of your powder and your shot, sir,
I am not the least afraid:
So long as pills and potions
You don't summon to your aid."