The young man at once agreed to this liberal proposition. Ben’s course of treatment was substantially as follows: For the first week he gave his patient three drinks of strong liquor a day. He made his diet consist of oatmeal, beef tea, and other equally nourishing articles. He caused him to exercise as much as his strength would permit, go to bed at regular hours, and to bathe himself freely. During the second week the dose of liquor was reduced to two drinks a day; the third week, to one a day; and the fourth week it was dispensed with altogether. This gradual shutting off of his accustomed stimulus made it an easy task to go without liquor. Ben furnished him with beer and light wines, and gave him to understand that he might use these beverages as freely as he cared to.
The result of all this was that the young man who had sunk to the lowest depths of degradation, was rescued from rum’s power. Ben was as good as his word, and fitted him out with a complete suit of new clothes. He is living to-day, an honored and respected citizen.
At the time of which I am writing, an exhibition of sparring was given in Turner’s Hall, by Tom Kelly and Patsy Reardon. The entertainment wound up with a set-to between Patsy and Ben which was one of the toughest contests on record. But a single round was fought, yet this occupied three-quarters of an hour. The men were so evenly matched that it was impossible for either to score a victory. Both, therefore, were compelled to throw up the sponge, and both declared it to be the hardest round they had ever fought.
A young woman, by name Annie Gibbons, who had formerly been a clog-dancer, was discovered by Hogan, while in Albany, and put in training for a pedestrian.
This Annie Gibbons was a remarkable character in more ways than one. She knocked about the city, visiting all sorts of haunts, in men’s attire, and passing herself off everywhere as a boy. It was no uncommon occurrence for her to enter a faro bank with Ben and engage in the game with as much interest as anybody. At such times she would frequently hear herself talked about with the utmost freedom.
“That’s a soft thing you’ve got, Ben,” some one would remark.
“What are you going to do with the girl, anyway?” from a second speaker.
“She must be a plucky one,” a third would add.
All of which was listened to in silence by Annie herself, whose presence, of course, was never suspected by the speakers.
Her powers as a pedestrian were something really extraordinary. She could walk fifty miles in ten hours—a feat which she actually performed in Troy. Ben saw of course that there was money to be made out of this woman, and he put her through a thorough course of training. Then he took her to Syracuse, where she gave an exhibition of her powers, and also to Elmira. At this latter place, Ben parted company with her. She made her way to Rochester, Hogan meantime going to Oneida with McLaughlin.