"You must work, my boy! Only see what I have done. No friends assisted me. I began at the lowest rung of the ladder, and now I am pretty well off in the world. God bless you!"
Then he tapped me on the shoulder in a benevolent manner, and walked on, never thinking of assisting the beneficence he had asked to bless me.
But I had to live. With my broken arm, what was there left for me to attempt? Davy Crockett mentions the shell-corn business at one period of his eventful life, as having suggested itself to him. Why should not I become a pop-corn merchant in a humble approach to the calling the hero of Kentucky had once followed. But, to my intense disgust, on diligent inquiry, I could find no pop-corn in the whole of Chicago, whether for love or money, save in one store. The amount demanded for this was thirty dollars. Of the last article mentioned above—money—I had none. Of the first, I had plenty. But this was not a circulating medium. As, with my unlamed hand, I was scraping my forehead in the hope of exhuming an idea, I looked up and found myself in front of a grocery store. Its owner was standing behind the counter. His face wore a benevolent and kindly expression. At no time in my life, from that in which I ran away from Dan Rice's Circus, have I been long in forming a determination. So I walked in, and asked him for the loan of the money, with which I intended to monopolize the pop-corn trade.
"Thirty dollars!" he exclaimed.
He was profoundly astonished, and on reflection, I am compelled to say, well he might be.
"That's the exact sum I want," was my answer.
"But, young fellow! you're an entire stranger to me."
"So you are to me," I undauntedly replied. "I don't know you from Adam or any other fellow. But I like your face, and so, if you want a lift, I don't mind taking you with me into the pop-corn business."
He smiled. His smile was indeed a full-fed and jolly laugh.
"Well!" he said, "upon my word, I rather like your frank cheek. We'll go and see about it."