The Wit and Humor of America, Volume III | Page 4

it
popped into my head, and I up and told father, and says,--

"I am going to Portland, whether or no; and I'll see what this world is
made of yet."
Father stared a little at first, and said he was afraid I would get lost; but
when he see I was bent upon it, he give it up, and he stepped to his
chist, and opened the till, and took out a dollar, and he gave it to me;
and says he,--
"Jack, this is all I can do for you; but go and lead an honest life, and I
believe I shall hear good of you yet."
He turned and walked across the room, but I could see the tears start
into his eyes. And mother sat down and had a hearty crying-spell.
This made me feel rather bad for a minit or two, and I almost had a
mind to give it up; and then again father's dream came into my mind,
and I mustered up courage, and declared I'd go. So I tackled up the old
horse, and packed in a load of axe-handles, and a few notions; and
mother fried me some doughnuts, and put 'em into a box, along with
some cheese, and sausages, and ropped me up another shirt, for I told
her I didn't know how long I should be gone. And after I got rigged out,
I went round and bid all the neighbors good-by, and jumped in, and
drove off for Portland.
Aunt Sally had been married two or three years before, and moved to
Portland; and I inquired round till I found out where she lived, and
went there, and put the old horse up, and eat some supper, and went to
bed.
And the next morning I got up, and straightened right off to see the
editor of the "Portland Courier," for I knew by what I had seen in his
paper, that he was just the man to tell me which way to steer. And
when I come to see him, I knew I was right; for soon as I told him my
name, and what I wanted, he took me by the hand as kind as if he had
been a brother, and says he,--
"Mister," says he, "I'll do anything I can to assist you. You have come
to a good town; Portland is a healthy, thriving place, and any man with

a proper degree of enterprise may do well here. But," says he,
"stranger," and he looked mighty kind of knowing, says he, "if you
want to make out to your mind, you must do as the steamboats do."
"Well," says I, "how do they do?" for I didn't know what a steamboat
was, any more than the man in the moon.
"Why," says he, "they go ahead. And you must drive about among the
folks here just as though you were at home, on the farm among the
cattle. Don't be afraid of any of them, but figure away, and I dare say
you'll get into good business in a very little while. But," says he,
"there's one thing you must be careful of; and that is, not to get into the
hands of those are folks that trades up round Huckler's Row, for ther's
some sharpers up there, if they get hold of you, would twist your
eye-teeth out in five minits."
Well, arter he had giv me all the good advice he could, I went back to
Aunt Sally's ag'in, and got some breakfast; and then I walked all over
the town, to see what chance I could find to sell my axe-handles and
things and to get into business.
After I had walked about three or four hours, I come along towards the
upper end of the town, where I found there were stores and shops of all
sorts and sizes. And I met a feller, and says I,--
"What place is this?"
"Why, this," says he, "is Huckler's Row."
"What!" says I, "are these the stores where the traders in Huckler's Row
keep?"
And says he, "Yes."
"Well, then," says I to myself, "I have a pesky good mind to go in and
have a try with one of these chaps, and see if they can twist my
eye-teeth out. If they can get the best end of a bargain out of me, they
can do what there ain't a man in our place can do; and I should just like

to know what sort of stuff these 'ere Portland chaps are made of." So I
goes into the best-looking store among 'em. And I see some biscuit on
the shelf, and says I,--
"Mister, how much do you ax apiece for them 'ere biscuits?"
"A cent apiece," says he.
"Well," says