t was at Vicksburg during the war. A company were out on a foraging expedition, when one of the privates, in nosing around the out-houses of a farm, ran across a barrel of prime cider. Now, as the private expressed it, a barrel of prime cider was not to be sneezed at, and with the help of an aged darky he carried it after nightfall into the camp. The next day he went to work rigging up a little counter, and before noon was ready to dispense the refreshing beverage at the small sum of ten cents a cup, according to the rudely scrawled sign outside the tent flap.
Now liquid refreshment was scarce, and with a luxury like cider to soothe the palate it was but a short while before the front of that tent resembled the entrance to a circus. Business was brisk, exceedingly brisk, and the private's arms ached in passing out the cups of cider. His little till was rapidly filling up with coin, when there was a perceptible dwindling in his customers.
The change was alarming, and he looked around for the cause. A loud noise in the rear of his tent attracted his attention, and warily closing up his shop, he walked around. A large crowd had gathered, and after a great deal of struggling he managed to see that another barrel of cider had reached the camp, for in the midst of the crowd he could hear a man shouting, "Here ye are—cider five cents a glass!"
He hastened around to his tent and changed the sign from ten cents to three cents a glass. In a short time the crowd discovered the change, and his business boomed. Then his competitor could be heard shouting, "Here ye are—cider for nothing!"
That settled it: he closed up his tent flap, and went around to see what sort of a man gave cider away. This time he was able to get near, and found, to his astonishment, that his competitor had driven a spigot into the other end of his own barrel, which he had placed so carefully in the rear of the tent.
According to the New York Press, when John C. Reid was managing editor of the Times he had an office-boy whose nerve and cheek were colossal. Greatness never embarrassed him, for he was no respecter of persons. One day he entertained in the reception-room a waiting visitor, whose patronizing way nettled him. All kinds of questions concerning his life and occupation were fired at him, and finally he was asked how much he earned a week. His reply was, "Fifty dollars," which caused the interrogator to whistle. At that moment the visitor was summoned by Reid, to whom he related his experience with an office-boy who said he made fifty dollars a week.
Reid rang bell; enter boy.
"Did you tell this gentleman that you made fifty dollars a week here?"