When I first landed in San Francisco a hack-man led me to believe that he was a hotel runner and created the impression that I would get a free ride. All houses there run a free bus. When I reached the hotel he charged me two dollars. Without a kick I paid it, as I might have known better than to trust him.
In another city I noticed a case filled with a beautiful line of photographs. The following sign was in the center:
“These Elegant Cabinets Just
$1.00 Per Dozen. Come Up and Have
Your Picture Taken.”
You go upstairs and after the operator gets his camera fixed on you he tells you, by the way, that the photos are $1.00 per dozen unmounted; if you want them put on cards they are two dollars a dozen. Now, who in the world would want photos unless they were mounted on cardboard? If you don’t put up the two dollars you get no pictures.
An enterprising restaurant man put a sign in front of his place, advertising “Ham and eggs at ten cents. Beefsteak and potatoes ten cents, including coffee, bread and butter, etc.” You go in to eat and on the bill of fare printed in very small letters you find the following: “All single ten cent dishes twenty cents; all twenty cent dishes twenty-five cents.”
I have seen instances on the road where hotel proprietors send their porters to the depot to yell at you when alighting from the train, “Free bus for such and such a hotel.” When you ride from the depot to the hotel the ride is free, but when you go back from the hotel it costs you twenty-five cents. I know of hundreds of hotels that charge their transient trade two dollars a day and their local patrons three dollars a week. Every traveling man on the road will tell you this is true. Some landlords even seem to go beyond this. I knew of one who was fond of getting up raffles, on perhaps a watch or a diamond ring, selling tickets only to transient customers. The raffle never came off, though this landlord would always claim that it had, and give the name of some fictitious person as the winner. I am glad to say that he was eventually sent to the penitentiary.
I could spend hours in calling attention to incidents like the foregoing, but what is the use? You can see, and you must know, that everybody is looking out for number one—every move, every thought and every word uttered seems to have a selfish motive back of it. You must look out for yourself, or go under for sure. A great author once said that all the world is a stage, and all the persons in it merely players. He might have said, “All the world is a fake and all the persons on it merely fakirs.”
Draw your own conclusions, then, from what I have written. Call me an unvarnished liar if you will, a dissembler, a hypocrite, a cheat, a dead-beat, what you like. To the untutored masses a successful fakir may seem to be all of these. You think his occupation is simply skinning the public. I know that his largest triumphs are in giving every man the full value for his money, and yet securing good profits for himself. Reconcile the two if you can; I did it long ago. Whether you succeed or not, if these pages have furnished you fair amusement I will be content. For no other reason were they written.