Watch Yourself Go By Part 53

Over-zealous friends are responsible to an extent for the failure of many promising young men. Many persons regard exaggerated praise necessary to the advancement of youth. A boy entering almost any profession or trade can be unfitted for his labors by fulsome flattering.

Alfred's best friends filled him with the false idea that he was a great actor, that he was being abused and thwarted. Had his friends been sincere, he could have side stepped many stiff punches that he walked straight into. Most fortunate is the boy who gets knocked through the ropes early in the bout of life; his youth will enable him to come back the stronger.

The King Solomon of showmen, P. T. Barnum, the father of fakes, originated the "Gift Show"--the giving of presents to all who purchased tickets of admission. Everybody received a prize. Several hundred of the prizes were of little value. There was one that was valuable: a gold watch and chain, a diamond pin or other article of jewelry, was generally the capital prize as it was designated.

People flocked to Barnum's museum to win the capital prize; Barnum reaped a harvest. Of course the idea of the "Gift Show" was immediately taken up by ignorant imitators who are always quick to appropriate the ideas of others. Numerous magicians were soon touring the country with their alluring advertis.e.m.e.nts promising presents far exceeding in value the receipts of the theaters in which they appeared, even though the prices of admission were doubled.

The circus concert adopted the "Gift Show" scheme, and when a circus side-show, or concert, adopts an innovation of this character, it is safe to wager that the yokel will "get his" good and plenty.

The "Gift Show" idea was worked so successfully that the numerous jewelry concerns that had sprung up in Maiden Lane and on the Bowery could not fill the orders for the bra.s.s ornaments required to supply the enterprises distributing them.

Everybody got a prize; there were no blanks. Alfred and another boy, George, did the distributing act. Stationed on either side of the stage, they received the tickets. Pretending to look at the number, they handed the prize out. Alfred had four packages of prizes; he was ordered to alternate. First a lady's breast pin, then a gent's collar b.u.t.ton, then a stud, then a finger ring. The capital prize the boss awarded in person.

Since the days of Barnum's "Gift Show," no "sucker" has ever seen the capital prize except when the proprietor of the "Gift Show" was not looking.

The "Gift Show" man usually placed the capital prize in the show window of a prominent store. Everyone who bought a ticket hoped to capture the capital prize. The "Gift Show" always fixed the landlord of the hotel or some man about town to draw the capital prize, returning it to the "Gift Show" manager afterwards. It is amazing the many who were willing to play the part of capper in this game.

After a number of tickets were presented and not less than a peck of the cheap presents distributed, the capper would pa.s.s up his ticket, and the boss proclaim in a loud tone: "Four hundred and sixty-two wins the capital prize, a solid silver tea set." The plate was set out on a table covered with a black velvet cloth to brighten the appearance of the ware.

"If the gentleman prefers we will gladly pay him one hundred and seventy-five dollars in gold for his ticket." The money counted out to him in the presence of the gaping mult.i.tude whetted everybody's desire to win the capital prize. The following night the hall was crowded again.

"Gift Shows" always remained three nights in each place. The entertainment offered was a secondary consideration; hence Alfred was the star of the show. He had unlimited opportunities. The fact was, the only reason the manager gave an entertainment at all was to escape the lottery laws.

Alfred was on the stage half a dozen times and would have gone on again had he had anything more to offer. Alfred imagined the more often he appeared the more he was appreciated, until one night a sailor heaved an orange from the gallery, landing it on Alfred's head. The seeds flew all over the stage. Alfred did not regain his composure even when a.s.sured by others of the company that the seeds were not his brains.

A gentleman whom he had met while with Eli during their tour of Greene County--he was only an acquaintance of a day--called on Alfred. Alfred introduced him as his friend. Agreeable, intelligent and well dressed, he made an impression on the show people and without consulting Alfred, the "Gift Show" man fixed Alfred's friend to cop the capital prize which he did very successfully.

When the boss called: "Ticket three hundred and nine wins the capital prize," the rehea.r.s.ed scene was gone through with, although Alfred's friend made the play doubly strong by hesitating in accepting the cash in lieu of the tea set. "I would prefer the silverware; I wish to preserve it in our family." After a little further parleying, he was handed one hundred and seventy-five dollars. He received congratulations, answered questions and smiled on everybody.

The night Alfred's friend won the capital prize the audience was larger and more intelligent than usual. One gentleman remarked, as he pa.s.sed back to Alfred the present tendered him: "Boy, keep this for me until I call for it. Write my name on it; I don't want to lose it, I want to get it melted, we need a pair of candle sticks and bra.s.s is mighty high."

An old lady opened her envelope containing a pair of ear-rings. Handing them to Alfred she remarked: "I hope there's no mistake here, the ticket reads ear-rings, these are chandeliers."

The stool pigeon, after receiving the money for the capital prize, wandered leisurely out of the hall. He was supposed to be met by the fixer of the "Gift Show", to whom he was to return the money the boss had given him.

Alfred's friend played his part capitally. He sauntered out leisurely; he did not saunter out of the main door, or, if he did, the fixer failed to meet him. The hall was empty save for the two or three stragglers and the manager.

The fixer entered hurriedly, looking sharply around the almost vacant room, he whispered with the boss. They turned their glances toward Alfred. It was an illusion of the boss and his staff that others of the company were ignorant of the deception practiced in the awarding of the capital prize.

The boss called Alfred to his room and questioned him at length as to the gentleman he had introduced as his friend. Alfred stated when the Eli minstrels were touring Greene County the gentleman accompanied them several days. His companionship was so agreeable that Eli remained behind in Carmichaelstown a day or two.

The boss had learned the fellow was a short card player, and he swore he would not allow a cheap poker player to do him.

"Fix the olly! I gave him broads to the show! He's right as a guinea!

Fix him! Have this cheap Greene County bilk pinched. I'll land him in the quay."

All of this, interpreted, meant that the boss wanted the winner of the capital prize arrested and thrown into jail. He did not dare proceed against him for holding out the money he had given him. To attempt to recover it by law would expose their nefarious practice.

There was hurrying to and fro and in hot haste but nothing as to the whereabouts of the gentleman could be learned. The constable searched all night, and the fixer remained with him as long as he could keep pace with the officer. Weary, blear-eyed, unsteady on his limbs, he finally lay down on a bench in the hotel sitting room and was awakened only by the breakfast bell.

Next morning he was very surly. He ordered Alfred in a very rude manner to remove two large boxes of jewelry from the hotel to the theatre and to remove the boxes as soon as he got through his breakfast: "and don't eat all day either."

Alfred did not eat all day; in fact he ate but little. He was choking with wrath over the insult the man had put upon him. Taking himself from the table he awaited the coming of the man. As he emerged from the dining room, Alfred halted him with: "I say, you ordered me to move some baggage from the hotel to the theatre. I just called upon you to tell you that you ain't my boss; you didn't hire me, you don't pay me; furthermore, I did not hire out to this troupe to peddle bra.s.s jewelry or handle baggage. You move the boxes yourself."

"Well, we'll see if you don't move them boxes, and I'll give you a smack in the jaw, you jay, you!"

Alfred remembered t.i.tusville, and a greatly subdued manner, said: "If you're the boss, just hand me my money and I'll skedaddle double quick."

Later in the day the boss sent for Alfred to come to his room. As he entered, the boss said: "Well, you want your money, do you, eh?"

Alfred replied: "I couldn't very well stay here after what's pa.s.sed between your manager and myself."

"That's so," smilingly a.s.sented the boss. Turning his back on Alfred and pretending to look over his books, he continued: "Where do you expect to meet your friend?"

"What friend," inquired Alfred.

"The smart young fellow you rung in on us yesterday. I'd thought you'd skipped without waiting for the few bones I hold of yours. You're too fly to work for a salary. Talk about sure-thing men, there ain't a strong arm game in the country can beat it; garroting is laid in the shade by your play."

Alfred could not understand the man at all. He was completely confused: "What do you mean? Has that man who tried to boss me this morning been telling you anything about me?"

The man wheeled around in his chair, facing Alfred. Pointing his finger at Alfred, in a voice choking with anger, he exclaimed: "You're not as slick as you imagine you are; you've been under cover ever since you came here. You made all my people think you were a straight guy; you played the role of a gilly kid to the queen's taste. But I'm on to you bigger than a house; after you've worked me for a hundred and seventy-five dollars, now you want to wolf me for twenty-five more. I won't shake down for one dime more. You think you'll get your bit of the touch but I'll bet you dollars to doughnuts that guy will double cross you and it will serve you right for doing the man you were working for.

You can leave; I can't hold you but you won't get a case from me. I'll stand pat on this proposition. Do you hear?"

Alfred understood the man, in some way, was endeavoring to connect him with the gentleman who won the capital prize.

"All I want is my money, the money you owe me and you'll pay me before I leave this town," was Alfred's declaration as he left the room.

A bluff always unsettles a scoundrel. Spaff Hyman, the magician of the troupe, was after Alfred in a moment. He explained that the boss and one or two others were under the impression that Alfred and the gentleman whom Alfred had introduced as his friend were in cahoots, that Alfred had brought the stranger there to do the gift showman out of the money and that Alfred stood in with the play.

Alfred was indignant. Spaff a.s.sured the boy that he had implicit confidence in his honesty. "I know that Greene County gang," continued Spaff, "Jim Kerr and Lias Flanagan had that old trotting horse sneak.

This fellow that came on here was the brains of the gang; they skinned every sucker on the fair grounds where they entered this horse. He had this combination sized up; he came on here to trim the boss and he got away with the play. I know you had nothing to do with it, but if you leave now, those who suspect you will make others believe you are crooked. Hold down the job until you prove yourself right, then skip if you want to."

Alfred began an explanation: "I never met this man but once. I heard several people say he was a young man with no bad habits: 'He does not drink a drop of liquor, he don't smoke, chew tobacco, nor cuss.' That's what I heard in Carmichaelstown."

"Huh! Yes, he's a saint," sarcastically mused the old sleight of hand man, "he's a saint and that's what makes him successful as a con. Sam Weller advised his son to 'bevare of vidders,' I advise you to beware of saints. Since the days of the Bible when saints were inspired, there have been but few of them roving the earth. Latter day saints are material, hence, susceptible to all the temptations and frailties of this world. When you get acquainted with a man who boasts that he has no bad habits, look out for him, he will spring something on you that will outweigh all the minor defects that scar the character of the ordinary man. I do not say there are no good men, there are; but the man who pretends to go through this world on a record of no bad habits acc.u.mulates a heap of inward secretiveness. It keeps growing. He gets swelled up, and some day he breaks out and the enormity of his break surprises all. 'He had no bad habits,' that's what they all said. No, he had no bad habits that were apparent; he was a sneak. In order to conceal his little sins, he deceived himself and his friends. If he had been honest he would have gone through life like the average man. Go back in your mind and figure up the fellows that have fallen and see if the fellow with no bad habits isn't in the majority. Mind, I'm not figuring on the poor devil without education or advantages, the fellow who robs hen-roosts or steals dimes. I'm talking about the fellow who walks off with one hundred and seventy-five dollars, robs the banks or post-offices, the fellow who touches the widow and orphan."

"I can't understand you," ventured Alfred.

"Well, you can't understand the fellow who had no bad habits."

"But the boss is not playing fair with the public," protested Alfred.

"Well, who on earth ever did play fair with the public? I know you, with your ideas bounded by Fayette County's limitations, don't understand these things. There's men who would not take advantage of any man in a personal business transaction, who will get in on almost anything that will worst the public. The public is a cruel monster; the public condemned and crucified Christ; the public is behind every lynching. The public condemns and ostracizes a man, even though he has lived an upright life all his days, when some scalawag, for personal or financial reasons, a.s.sails him in a newspaper. When Commodore Vanderbilt gave utterance to the words, 'The public be d.a.m.ned,' he expressed the sentiment of four-fifths of those who have rubbed up against the public, as had the st.u.r.dy old man who acquired his estimate of human nature while rowing the public over the river. The public would ride across the river without paying him fare. The public will crowd into our show tonight without paying. The public will eat all the fruit that ripens, all the grain that grows, drink all the liquors malted and take anything they can get for nothing. I mean the public rabble, the mob, not the individual. The only time you can trust the public is when their sympathies are aroused over some great public calamity that brings death and desolation. Then the public is of one mind, the public then shows to best advantage."

"Well, you are the funniest man I ever heard talk. Now what are you going to do to make the public what you consider it should be?"

"Educate it; educate it. Three-fourths of the public are suckers, one-fourth skinners. Now, I don't mean to a.s.sert that one-fourth are dishonest men, but most of them are men a bit too fly for the others.

You know there's not one man in a thousand that considers it cheating to give himself a bit the best of it. Now you argue that the public is ignorant and that the only way to get it right is to educate it. Well, the fellow who walked off with the boss's one hundred and seventy-five dollars is educated."