He smiled grimly at me, and while passing by said: "The fools are not all dead yet, are they, Johnston?"
"No, Brother Long," I answered; "and there is no fool like an old fool."
About three weeks later I started on a tour through Ohio, making several agents and selling a few Township and County rights.
Another little experience with a Methodist deacon will come in here, and I will tell it. He was a farmer, living a few miles south of Marion, Ohio.
I had hired a rig, in the above town, to drive into the country to meet a gentleman with whom I had previously made an engagement. When our business was finished and I was about to leave, he bantered me to call on his neighbor, Deacon ——, who had a notorious reputation for his hatred of agents and peddlers.
As I always considered it good practice to meet such men, I was glad of the chance to make this particular visit. I reached the house just as the deacon and his sons came in for dinner.
I hitched my horse, and when about to pass through the gate the front door opened, and the man's voice, at its highest pitch, shouted out: "Stop right where you are sir. Stop; stop, I tell you. Stop!"
I put my hand to my ear, as if hard of hearing, and imitating as nearly as I could the tone peculiar to deaf persons, said: "No, no, thank you; I don't care to put my horse out. I can feed her after I get to Marion. No, no; never mind; just as much obliged." By this time I had reached the door, and passed directly inside.
I had the floor.