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.