St. Landry clarion. (Opelousas, La.) 1890-1921, 1891-06-20
TOLD BY A FAKIR.
The Many Tricks In the Street
Mans Life.

The Many Tricks in the Street
Mans Life.
Last evening, says a writer in the
buggy selling prize packages by the
blaze of a huge paraffine lamp. He
wore frock coat, shiny silk hat,
clean linen, benevolent ssmile and
half a dozen badges.
"I've been taking for twenty years,
he confded to a reporter after he had
replaced prize packages with s45 and
thrust it into his inside pocket.
''I've travelled the country from
Maine to California" he continued
"and know every. city, town and Wy
lage where there's dollar. l either
get permit or license at each place,
and SO sI'm known to all the mayors
and chiefs of police from Florida to
Oregon. I'm 40 years old. and have
been street man just half my life.
"No, 1t doesn't matter what fakir
has to sell, he'll sell it If he only knows
how. It's the gift of the CAB, solid
front, nerve and Judgment, that
succeeds; and the goods have nothing to
do with it. To be successful you must
be grammatical, newsy and brief. If a
man will only wait until I get through
talking I'll have his quarter. If he
goes home he misses my breezy conver-
sation, and his wife gets the money;
mine does when go home, know.
I'm prohibition States advocate free
license, and in Chicago high license for
saloons. If strike town where there
has recently been an elopement / tell
them an elopement story, and get 'em
laughing. If it's pious town I ook
austere; tell sober, pathetic stories and
stealthily wink at the policeman who
usually goes away and chokes. If the
town is Democratic talk Democracy,
or II Republican I advocate the prin-
ciples of the g. o. p. and nod to the
Democratic coroner.
"Some audiences have worked with
a carriage and pair and with colored
driver. An hour later, in the same
town, / am selling to different crowd,
mounted on a soap-box, with soft felt
hat, a blue flannel shirt and overalls. 1
sell the same goods to both crowds, but
out of the carriage get a quarter and
off the soap-box / only get dime.
However, clear as much money in an
hour from one crowd as from another,
as the stuff sell does not cost me over
three cents, and II sell 100 boxes at 10
cents, and SO at 25, have done well,
even after paying for the carriage,
which costs say So in a small town. l
handle almost every thing, but medi-
.cines pay best was once in town
with big stock of jewelry and could
not work it off. thought if I only had
some medicine to sell I might pay the
hotel bill / went out skirmishing and
found sawmill where they cut up a
good deal of mahogany and some
ebony. / got paper bagful of the
dark sawdust and soaked it all night at
the hotel. We had beautiful medicine
next day, and my wife bottled it while
went to the printers and had some
labels struck off. Each bottle was the
size of your little finger, and cost 30
cents gross, the labels cost so cents
and the sawdust nothing. l sold 50
worth at noon at 25 cents bottle, and
that night took in $37 in cold cash.
People who felt all kinds of things at
noon had gone home, taken some, felt
better and recommended it. See?
"The first street man ever saw was
DR. Mcbride, the original king of
pain, who resided in Chicago up to the
time Of his death. He made many
thousands OF dollars, and at one time
showed me his bank book with $40, 900
to his credit, but he died penniless.
Gardner, the original street soap man
became wealthy, and old man Clark,
the pioneer street indestructible pen
man, is still selling on the street at
the age of 76. Charlton, the Inn
pression-paper man, became minister,
and is now pastor of a New England
church. By the way, Clark the pen
man recovered heavy damages for in
juries received in the Ashtabula dis
aster in Ohio, and enjoys the distinc-
ton of holding q life-pass over the
road on which he was injured. AS he
Is now 76, it would be interesting to
know how old he might have become If
he had not received those injuries.
every lawyer and broker down
town will remember Smith, the razor
strap man, who was recently buried
with Masonic honors. Prescott, the
man who handled galanga root, Is
settled in Maine in good circumstances,
but although 10 years of age, the old
nomadic spirit comes over him at times
and he lights his big lamps and talks at
country crossroads as glibly as ever.
Biglow, the street man who sold patent
medicines for years, is now connected
with very large patent-medicine house
In New Haven. The original glass
cutter man was C. II. Thompson, now
In the insurance business in Boston.
ssOld man Dow, who made a speciality
OF novelties, is still on the road with {