THE FOGY DAYS AND NOAY I IGT 



DRIED APPLE CIDER. 



Jn a previous chapter, I stated that I had long been impressed 

 with the idea that I was a born speculator, and although my 

 experience in life had been sufficiently disastrous to entirely 

 explode this pet theory to any ordinary practical person; yet, I 

 still condoned ray constant reverses with the excuse that I 

 had not struck it right — had not struck the ebb at the flood-tide 

 that led on to fortune, and with unbroken spirit still looked 

 hopefully and fondly to the future, when things would turn 

 up more favorably, and even now, seemed the auspicious time, 

 and, indeed, in this dried-apple business, things did turn up 

 mightily, but not in accordance with my pleasureable anticipa- 

 tions, and turned up with such dynamic force, as to greatly 

 shake my life-time faith as to my birth-right as a speculator. 

 When the great prohibition movement resulted in success, I 

 was proprietor of the National Hotel, and one of my frequent 

 guests and warm friends was a Mr Obediah, who owned a fine 

 river farm near Gainsville, Ga. There he cultivated big 

 apple orchards and vineyards, and manufactured oceans of vin- 

 egar, and sold profitably to the various markets* 



One day Mr. Obe registered at the desk, and I noticed a 

 peculiar cunning twinkle about his eye, and soon he had me off 

 to one side and was divulging a great scheme — the result of 

 much figuring and meditation — an enterprise, the manufacture 



