Mr. Gould could never accustom himself to take with equanimity the criticism and abuse that were heaped upon his head. He was exceedingly sensitive of ridicule and loathed the term “Little Wizard,” by which he was not infrequently designated by the Wall street men and the papers. He often heard himself most grossly abused. Once, it is related, during a particularly vexatious series of delays to a crowded elevated railroad train in which Mr. Gould happened to be, a tall, muscular individual broke out into a torrent.
“It’s ridiculous,” he shouted. “The accommodations on this road. Absurd! Scandalous! That man Gould won’t put on an extra car. Valuable franchise for a song, but an extra train means a dollar less or so in profits. It’s a shame, and I’d like to have that little rat Gould here to tell him and then pull his nose.”
Mr. Gould stood by the blusterer’s side almost crushed in the crowd. He said nothing, however, and the man continued his outburst until he reached a station, where he left the car, after pronouncing a final malediction upon Gould’s head.
“Well, well,” said Mr. Gould, turning to an acquaintance, “that was hot, wasn’t it? I was very much annoyed at the delays and crowds myself and I did want to tell the man that I was not responsible for the limited number of trains. If he had not been so abusive, I would have told him that it was all Sage’s doings. He advised taking the extras off and I suffer for it. I do wish Sage could have been here, for I think I would have told that fellow all about it and let Sage get his deserts.”
An illustration of the rush and hurry of Jay Gould’s life is told among the Pennsylvania mountaineers in the region round about Gouldsboro.
Mr. Gould’s father was superintendent of the tannery at Canadensis, which was the property of his son, and received therefor the salary of $20 per week, which in those parts placed him high up in the category of the well to do. Canadensis is four and a half miles from the railroad station at Cresco on the Delaware, Lackawanna and Western railroad, and the road between is a rough mountain road not fitted for fast speeding.
When the old man died Jay Gould was summoned by telegraph. He reached Cresco in a great hurry. Business matters were pressing and he had no time to waste. He hired a rig and told the owner to drive him over to Canadensis and back in time to catch the next train back to New York.
The owner shook his head.
“Go ahead,” said Gould. “I’ll pay the damage.”
The horse was put to its utmost speed and Gould had just one hour and a half to devote to preparations for his father’s funeral. Then he drove back to Cresco and caught his train, but he drove so fast that the horse died from overexertion. Gould made good the value to the owner without complaint.