I will now illustrate a sale on "Soap:"
"My friends, the next article I will offer for your inspection is the homa jona, radical, tragical, incomprehensible compound extract of the double-distilled rute-te-tute toilet soap.
"T-a-l-k about your astronomical calculation and scientific investigation, but the man who invented this soap, studied for one hundred years. As he d-o-v-e into the deep, d-a-r-k mysteries of chemical analysis, he solved the problem that n-o man born could be an honest Christian without the use of soap.
"Take a smell of it, gentlemen, eat a cake of it, and if you don't like it, spit it out. I'll guarantee it to remove tar, pitch, paint, oil or varnish from your clothing; it will remove stains from your conscience, pimples from your face, dandruff from your head, and whiskey from your stomach; it will enamel your teeth, strengthen your nerves, purify your blood, curl your hair, relax your muscles and put a smile on your face an inch and-a-half thick; time will never wear it away; it's a sure cure for bald heads, scald heads, bloody noses, chapped hands, or dirty feet. * * *
"Now, gentlemen, I have here an extra fine toilet soap that you can't buy in your city for less than ten cents a cake. But I'm here my friends, to give you bargains." (Then counting them out, one cake at a time):
"I'll give you one cake for ten, two for twenty, three of 'em for thirty, four for forty, five for fifty and six for sixty cents. Yes, you lucky cusses, I'll see if there's a God in Israel. Here, I'll wrap them up for fifty-five—fifty—forty-five—forty—thirty-five, thirty. There! I hope never to see my Mary Ann or the back of my neck if a quarter of a dollar don't buy the whole lot. Remember, twenty-five cents; two dimes and-a-half will neither make nor break you, buy you a farm, set you up in business or take you out of the poor-house.
"Is there a gentleman in the crowd now who will take this lot for twenty-five cents?"
(When some one cries out, "I'll take 'em,")—
"Take 'em, I should think you would take 'em. I took 'em, too; but I took 'em when the man was asleep, or I never could sell 'em for the money. Will it make any difference to you, sir, if I give you six more cakes in the bargain?—(throwing in six more.) All right, my friends.
"You can't give in vain to a good cause. Remember, 'God loveth a cheerful giver.' Now gentlemen, who'll have the next, last, and only remaining lot for the money? Here's one, another makes two, one more are three, another makes four, one more are five and one are six, and six more added make another dozen, the only remaining lot for the money. And sold again.
"Not sold, but morally and Christianly given away; where Christians dwell blessings freely flow; I'm here to dispense blessings with a free and liberal hand. Ah, you lucky sinners, I have just one more lot—the last and only remaining one. Who'll have it? And sold again. The fountains of joy still come rushing along, the deeper we go the sweeter we get and the next song will be a dance. Well, dog my riggin', if here ain't another dozen cakes. And who'll take them along for the same money? Sold again! Not sold, but given away. He that giveth to the poor lendeth to the Lord and when he dies he'll go to Georgetown by the short-line.
"Well, there, gentlemen, I've soaped you to death. The next article I'll call your attention to is a fine Eagle rubber-tipped pencil with the lead running all the way through it and half way back again, and a pencil you can't buy in the regular way for less than ten cents. Now, gentlemen, after sharpening this pencil to a fine point, I propose to give you a specimen of my penmanship. I presume I'm the finest penman who ever visited your city.
"And I will wager one hundred dollars to fifty that I can beat any man in your town writing two different and distinct hands." (Then hold up a piece of paper or paste-board and commence writing on it.)
"You will notice, my friends, that I write one hand that no man in the world can read but myself, and another hand that myself nor any other man can read. Now, gentlemen, I'm going to supply the wants of yourself and family, and all your relatives." (Then picking them up one at a time, and exposing them to view):
"Here is one for dad and one for mam,
Two for the cook and the hired man,
One for your daughter and one for your son.
As true as I tell you, I have only begun.
For there is one for your wife and one for yourself;
I'll give you another to lay on the shelf.
Here's one for your sister and one for your brother,
For fear they'll need three I'll throw in another.
Here is one for your uncle and one for your aunt.
I would give them another, but I know that I can't,
For there's just two left for grandfather and grandmother.
If you'll take them along and make me no bother,
You may have the whole lot for a quarter of a dollar.
"And who'll have the entire lot for the money?
"And sold right here. This gentleman takes them. I should think he would take 'em. Any man that wouldn't take 'em, wouldn't take sugar at a cent a pound. He'd want to taste off the top, taste from the bottom and eat out the middle and then he'd swear it wasn't sugar. And who'll have the next, last, and only remaining lot for the money? And sold again. Luck is a fortune gentlemen. The man that is here to-night is bound to be a winner. And who'll have the next lot for the money?"
The foregoing will give the reader a slight idea of the variety of talk that it was necessary for me to keep conjuring up and manufacturing in order to entertain my buyers, and to continually spring something new on them.
CHAPTER XXIV.
MY EMPLOYER CALLED HOME—I CONTINUE TO HUS'LE—AN AUCTIONEERING CO-PARTNERSHIP—STILL IN A DOUBLE ROLE—A NEAT, TIDY, QUIET BOARDING HOUSE—WE MOVE TO A HOTEL—A PRACTICAL JOKE—AUCTIONEERING FOR MERCHANTS—MAKING A POLITICAL SPEECH—GETTING MIXED.
I remained with my late employer several weeks, having almost uninterrupted success, when he was notified of his wife's serious illness and was obliged to leave his horses and wagon with a liveryman and return at once to his home in Ohio.