Twenty years a fakir

by S. James Weldon

Even if a man would win five cigars, which did not occur often, I was not dangerously hurt, as I bought my stock low down, the average profits on the thousand being an enormous per cent.

There was not “big money” in the wheel, but for a small venture the returns were pretty fair, and with it as a companion I wandered over a wide range of country, recovering my health, seeing the world and gaining more experience. A little adventure in the west will give you an idea of the sort of thing I was apt to meet with.

I took the stage for the small town of Gurnsville, and when I arrived all was excitement on account of a wagon circus which was showing there. I had not struck the show before, but imagined I was going to turn a pretty penny off the crowd which would be in attendance.

To my disgust I found the authorities were not going to allow anything that even looked like gambling. Circuses have an unholy reputation for fleecing the public with all sorts of catch games, and the city had resolved that the innocents should be protected, and reserved for the faro banks and keno tables of the town, of which I understood there were more than a sufficient supply usually in full blast. I could not get a license to run my wheel of fortune with cigars.

In those days the majority of the citizens of Gurnsville, if they smoked, used pipes. A cigar was considered to be the mark of a dead-game sport, for the cheapest thing you could get was fifteen cents, or two for a quarter. The storekeepers and merchants had pooled their issues to a certain extent and united in a sort of trust to keep up prices. Wages were high, so they could ask big prices, not only for cigars, but for everything else.

I had about three thousand cigars with me and did not want to lose the day, so I took out a license to sell on the street in the ordinary manner. About this time I was more particular about the license than before or since. I rented a small glass case and opened a stand right near the show grounds.

I assorted the cigars, putting the light colored ones on one side and the dark on the other. The medium shade I also separated. The light ones I sold two for five cents, the dark ones five cents each, and the medium ones for ten and fifteen cents. They were all of the same quality and cost the same price, being as low an article as I could find that had a half-way decent outside.

When the crowds began to gather about the tents, long before the hour for opening the doors, I yelled at the top of my voice, “Right this way. Two fine cigars for five cents.”

People there had never paid less than fifteen cents for one cigar, and the idea of getting two for a nickel excited them. They fairly ran over each other in getting to the case.

If a straggling fellow would come up with his “best gal” on his arm I would call his attention to the better goods in the case. Of course, rather than give his girl the impression he was close-fisted, and bought cheap cigars, he would flip me a twenty-five-cent piece and take two for a quarter. I sold out those three thousand cigars slick and clean, and was sorry I had not a few thousand more. The result almost convinced me that legitimate business beats gambling every time. I went away with about three times as much money as I could possibly have had had they allowed me to run my little old wheel of fortune.