Twenty years a fakir

by S. James Weldon

Glass pens were pretty good articles to handle. In fact, they were among the neatest and prettiest novelties I carried. The pen point and holder were made entirely of glass in different tints, the effect being very fine. The point was ridged all around—all sides were alike and the same size, the ridges narrowing at the end so as to form the writing point—and the “pen” would hold a good amount of ink. I claimed one hundred words could easily be written with a single dip of the pen, and perhaps I was not so far wrong. This was one of the best sellers I had, and yielded enormous profits.

Late and early I pushed my side lines; but as I was always on hand to do my work with the doctor he made no objections, though he must have sometimes suspected that my profits were outweighing his. I am sure he gave me full credit for being an all-round hustler from Hustlerville. Eventually he filled his wagon with notions and sold them on the streets. The authorities in a sudden spasm of virtue had most everywhere shut down on the “pie” scheme, and every householder in the United States appeared to be provided with a bottle of the Pain Balm.

I had less opportunity for my side lines, but as I was a limited partner in the concern I did not complain. The profits of any one particular evening might not be as large as in the medicine trade, but the general average was about as good, and the methods of drawing and holding a crowd were about the same.

It was while we were engaged in this venture that I struck almost, if not altogether, the most exciting period of my life. The doctor and I fought the two thousand inhabitants of Logwater to a finish—and won.

The war came about in this way.

We drove into the town prepared to sell goods from the wagon, and had every reason to expect a prosperous week or more. The merchants, however, got wind of our coming, and at once were rebellious. In anticipation they already saw themselves knocked out by the traveling fakirs, and got their heads together to devise measures for putting a stop to the performance.

As they had much political influence, and several of them were members of the body, a meeting of the city council was called double quick and an ordinance passed, raising the license for street selling from three dollars, as it had been, to one hundred dollars a day.

As it was not likely our profits could reach such a sum, we decided we could not stand the tax, and therefore rented a store-room. We then took out a license, hired the local cryer to assist, and proceeded to sell goods at auction, doing a rattling good business the first night.

This made the merchants madder than ever. Again the council was called together and a special ordinance was passed, in which our business was called that of a traveling auction store, and it was also made subject to a license of one hundred dollars a day.

This time they had us surely. We could not stand an expense of that kind, on top of our other outlays, and had to close up. But I told them, when the marshal called to announce the action of the council, that they were not done with us, but that sooner or later we would get even. And I guess we did, and in a way they will never forget.