350 
The Trouble Maker 
(Continued from page 31/.5) 
cows on the morning of the second day 
of the fair that he seemed to have lost 
interest in nearly everything, and for a 
young man was thinking altogether too 
frequently, “What’s the use?” 
But his sister wanted to go to the fair. 
She was nothing but a kid anyway, Jim 
thought, and she had far too little fun 
for him and his grouchiness to stand in 
the way of her holiday. So after the 
chores were done, the two Taylors joined 
the procession toward the fair grounds. 
When they got there, he drove the horse 
down in the back end of the grounds, 
unhitched her from the wagon, and tied 
her to the tree. Then they went back 
up to see the sights. 
His sister soon found some girl friends, 
and Jim strolled about talking with 
friends and listening to the various in¬ 
ducements put forth by the mid-way 
artists to sell their wares or to get the 
passing crowd into their fake shows. 
Among these was a grizzled veteran 
of the Civil War who had seen better 
days, but who for years had been coming 
to the Speedtown fair as a vendor of 
cheap merchandise. No one knew what 
this man’s real name was, but there were 
hundreds who attended the fair who 
always listened with pleasure to the 
sales talk and lectures of “George, the 
Whip Man,” for the whips were the 
leading articles which he sold. In the 
most perfect English he would enter¬ 
tain the crowd with lecture, anecdote 
and story, and wind up by selling them 
some of his wares for which they had 
no need. 
When Jim came along, old George was 
just opening up, and the boy paused to 
hear the harangue. 
“Look at me,” cried the old man. 
“Once I was high in the councils of the 
Republican party, once I was mayor of a 
big city. Look at me now.” 
Y ANKING away his collar and point¬ 
ing to an ugly weal on the side of 
his neck, he cried: 
“Do you see that scar? That is where 
one of old John Gordon’s men put his 
mark with a peak-pointed iron on the 
end of a rebel musket. He is dead now, 
that fellow; been dead a long time; been 
deader than Julius Caesar thirty years 
on the tenth of next June, the anniver¬ 
sary of that unpleasant time at Coal 
Harbor. 
“But look at these other scars that 
were cut deeper than the Johnny bayonet 
thrust, cut way deeper into the soul. 
And the party that made them is still 
alive, and up to all of his old deviltry! 
Look at the lines on my face, look at 
these dim, bleared eyes, these trembling 
hands, this gray head, this stooped, 
slouched body, that should yet be erect 
and vigorous! Those are the marks 
left by old John Barleycorn, the rampant 
rebel of the Inferno, whose accursed 
legions have never yet met up with a 
Gettysburg nor come to an Appomatox 
Court House.” 
Turning abruptly to the big trunk on 
the platform at his side, old George picked 
out and held up an article of small 
merchandise. 
“We have here,” he said, “an ordinary ' 
comb, such as the daughter of a family 
uses to arrange her locks on an evening 
when she expects male company. Its 
ordinary price is thirty-five cents but I 
am not going to ask that for it. I shall 
just put in another comb of the same 
size,” suiting the action to the words, 
“and another one still a size smaller, 
and another with fine teeth for the hired 
man to rake the June bugs out of his 
whiskers. And with it, this package of 
gold strings, a paper of pins and two 
spools of cotton thread, number forty, 
and the first man, woman, child, or other 
creature who offers two York shillings, 
twenty-five cents, or a quarter of a dollar, 
gets the lot.” 
T RADE was brisk for a. few moments 
and when it began to slacken the 
salesman tried another scheme. Select¬ 
ing a razor from among the endless 
variety of articles in the big trunk, he 
removed it from the case and held it up 
for inspection. 
“This little throat tickler of genuine 
Sheffield steel is something that every 
man in this fair audience stands in need 
of. Gentlemen, buy one and peel off 
those dismal shrouds of hay-colored 
draping that now obscure your coun¬ 
tenances; and your wives will cease to 
run away with lightning rod salesmen. 
“Ladies, buy a razor; keep your corns 
peeled, and your tempers will improve 
to an extent that your husbands will 
come to prefer your company to that of 
the young widow who is the object of 
your suspicion and dislike. 
“This razor sells for a dollar, but the 
first party who hands me a dollar bill 
as its purchase price is going to get the 
surprise of his life!” 
J IM, who had been listening to the 
salesman’s patter with considerable 
amusement, at once pulled a dollar 
from his pocket and handed it to George. 
Taking the bill, the old fellow wrapped 
it around the case containing the razor 
and handed both it and the razor back to 
Jim. Immediately the whole crowd 
surged forward waving dollar bills. 
“Hold on,” old George shouted, “just 
give me a minute and I shall tend to all 
of your wants in the corn-paring line. 
Now, gentlemen, if I were, to give you 
each a razor and a dollar in return for 
your dollar, I would soon be unable to 
attend these annual and joyous reunions 
of you people whom I love. Ah, yes, 
my dear friends, I do love you all. I 
wish that my arms were long enough and 
strong enough to gather you all, men, 
women and children, in my embrace— 
in ’order that I might extract a half 
dollar from each of your pockets!” 
Having halted the charge of the 
dollar-wild crowd with this sally, George 
picked up another razor case, dropped 
it into a small pasteboard box, added 
to it a coin whose denomination coidd 
not be ascertained by the onlookers, and 
held the package toward the crowd. 
“Who will give me a dollar for this?” 
he demanded. “Take it or leave it now 
on terms of your money back if you are 
not satisfied.” 
In the brisk exchanges that followed, 
a purchaser sometimes found a dollar 
bill in the box with his razor, sometimes 
a quarter or a ten-cent piece, and more 
often nothing. Such was the humor of 
the crowd, however, and its deep Ameri¬ 
can sense of taking “hoss-trade” loss 
without a murmur that few, if any, de¬ 
manded their money back in settlement 
of a poor “deal.” (Continued next week) 
A Public Market in a Dairy Section 
(i Continued from page 337) 
conditions are right the public market 
offers a fine solution of the high cost of 
living for city cooks, and of how to 
increase the incomes on the farms.” 
She pronounced the Binghamton mar¬ 
kets the finest of any she had ever seen, 
unless those of Seattle be excepted. 
E. R. Eastman, editor of the American 
Agriculturist, was one of the chief 
speakers on Friday. His slogan “Kill 
a cow this winter” applies well in this 
section, as the farmer can sell a part of 
it on the market if it is more than his 
wife cares to can, pickle, or smoke. 
This study was brought about through 
the foresight of Mrs. Lewis Seymour of 
Binghamton, Chairman of the district, 
who recognized the great truth that 
before a great deal can be done to im¬ 
prove the farm home, the farm income 
must be strengthened. The Broome 
County Home Bureau, and its popular 
agent Mrs. Anne Phillips Dunjan, also 
did much to make the tour a success. 
Always sign your letters. Communica¬ 
tions with initials attached cannot be 
answered. We will not use your name 
if you do not wish it printed. 
4 Ford questions 
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