( I 



hen" capkn. 317 



was business, all wool and a yard wide, and so it 

 would run on until he felt that his wealth was a 

 burden. Then he would start on a "tear" and never 

 pull up until he was down to a shoe string. 



In his day "Hen" Capen made thousands of trades, 

 but all of them are now forgotten, except one that was 

 consummated a short time after the close of the war. 

 At that time Peter Pointdexter, possibly that was his 

 name and possibly it was not, kept a meat store on 

 Clark Street, in Hartford. He required a good horse 

 in his business. One morning while driving from 

 Hartford to Windsor, Peter decided that the horse he 

 was driving did not suit him. Men will do that some- 

 times, and why they do, is more than I know. Just 

 as this thought was rumbling about in Peter's head, 

 who should swing around a bend in the road but 

 "Hen" Capen. From the way he was weaving about 

 in the seat of his wagon it looked as though he had 

 been taking a little ballast, or at least was letting on he 

 did, and they do say "Hen" was able to do a little 

 shamming when he felt it might lead to new business. 



As Peter hailed him he pulled up. For the next few 

 minutes Peter and "Hen" talked horse as only Yankee 

 and gypsy traders can. This brand of trader, unlike 

 the Tennessee product, never find fault with the other 

 man's horse, but can always slip in a sweet word or 

 two in favor of their own. As Peter wanted to trade, 

 "Hen" had no objections to offer. That was his busi- 

 ness, and the result was that after a busy quarter of 

 an hour, the meat wagon started towards Windsor 

 with a new horse between the thills and "Hen" jogged 

 on to Hartford with $50 added to his worldly posses- 

 sions. The following morning, as the story runs, 



