Masters of Bargaining

1895

New York Old Clothes Buyers Who Are Clever, but Tricky.

There are tricks, of course, in all trades, but when it comes to a dicker heaven defend the wight who has to do with the two men who haggle over "old clo'" in a cellar in Hester street.

A man who has knocked about a bit and thinks he knows fully a thing or two toddled down those cellar stairs the other day with a suit of clothes in a neatly tied bundle under his arm.

"By the light of the solitary gas burner," as G. P. R. James would have had it, "he was enabled to discern" the two storekeepers waiting to begin operations on him. They came at him in a whirlwind of Polish dialect.

He meekly displayed the coat, the vest and trousers, a very praiseworthy collection, which he was willing to dispose of for $3.

"Well," said he to a reporter, "if you could only have seen those precious bluffers! They turned tail and walked into the rear room. One would have thought I had told them I was an escaped cholera patient.

"But I guess they were given the signals for a flying wedge play, for out they came a moment later and abused me like a pickpocket for ever having the nerve to ask $3 for such a mass of tatters and grease spots and old fashion as that.

"I was hurt as well as rattled. I had been fond of that suit and didn't relish hearing it abused. They found rips that I never dreamed of — I swear I think they made 'em — and before they got through I would have sold the whole outfit for a quarter rather than carry it through the streets.

"The men were bad enough, but when a frowsy woman came out and added her slack to the rumpus they were making I demurred. I told her in all kinds of figures of speech to get back to her dishwashing, and she got.

"One of the fellows thereupon offered me 80 cents for the coat and said he didn't want the trousers and vest. I hung off and started to go out, when the other chap said he'd give me $2.50 for the trousers and vest.

"That completed the bargain at an advance on the price I had asked, and I was elated. The first chap wrapped up the coat — almost as good as new — and put it away and handed me the 80 cents. I put it in my pocket and started to do up the trousers and vest man.

"The scoundrel laughed at me and said: 'I guess I don't want that pants and vests already, don't it? I change my mind. I don't want 'em.'

"Then I did raise a rumpus. The coat was gone, and I had only 80 cents, and the vest and trousers I knew I couldn't get a shaving for separately, and the woman came out and berated me for wanting the coat back.

"They wouldn't give it up, and I stormed, and finally they threatened to call a policeman and charge me with having tried to snatch a coat and vest.

"That was a pretty prospect, and I just had to weaken. I've lived on the east side all my life, but I think I'd better settle down and take a few lessons. I'm easy, and no mistake." — New York Recorder.

Life Worth Living

1895

An Original Mind That Was Great In Getting Rid of Rats.

John Kernell, the well known comedian, tells a story that might very well be true.

"I'll never forget," said John in the deep bass that is familiar to all fun loving playgoers, "a kind of dramatic situation in real life that occurred at Steve Brodie's place on the Bowery one night while I was in New York rehearsing.

"Well, while we were sitting in the little back room listening to the pianist a stout looking old man came in and began to be sociable with us. He said he was a milkman from Hoboken and the maddest man in America.

"'This is why I'm sore,' he said. 'I own a nice little house, which I left in charge of an Irish hired girl while my wife and I were in Chicago. One day a man came and asked the girl if there were any rats in the house. He said he was a rat killer by trade and would guarantee to rid the house of any number of rats. We'd never had any rats in the place, and the girl told him so. He loitered around awhile and then went away. In a week the house was alive with rats. The man called again and offered to remove them for $10. The girl wrote me simply that the place was full of rats, and that the rat killer would destroy them for $10. I sent her the ten, the man came with a dog and made a bluff at slaying the rats, and she gave him the money. She's never seen him since, and I've never seen him at all. Our house is now a hotel for rats. I tell you, gentlemen, if I could only lay my hands on that rat man!'

"The Hoboken man took a big drink of whisky, and we changed the subject.

"Presently in came as hard a looking bum as I ever saw. He ordered whisky and looked around at us. Brodie knew him and asked, 'What are you doing for a living now, Muggsy?'

"'Nawtin,' said the bum. 'I don't have to work. I'm rich. I played a new gag dis summer. I went over into New Jersey and stocked houses with rats and den went back and made a bluff to clean 'em out for $5. Some places I got ten. Der was one jay of a milkman in Hoboken' —

"He never got any further. The Hoboken man was at him with a wild yell, and the bum's whisky glass struck the ceiling. For three minutes we could see nothing of the milkman or the bum but a confused mass of clothes, legs and arms rolling on the floor. When the milkman was through, he dragged the bum to the door, dropped him out on the sidewalk, strutted up to the bar with his clothes in disorder and cried out:

"'Have one with me, gentlemen? Life's worth living after all. Make it wine, barkeep!'" — Philadelphia Times.

Worked To The Limit

1895

How the Boys Got Ahead of One Man on a 10 Cent Find.

A man walking along Wrightwood avenue saw a bright dime lying on the sidewalk. He picked it up. Only a short distance ahead of him were two boys. He called to them, "Boys, did you lose anything?"

They turned around, and after looking at each other and then at the friendly man they shook their heads.

"Have you any money?" he asked them.

"I've got 65 cents," said one of them. "What kind of money is it?"

"I got a half dollar and three nicks." "No dimes, eh?"

"No, sir."

"I just picked up a dime back there, and I thought perhaps one of you might have dropped it."

He walked on to the corner. As he stood there waiting for a car he felt a pull at his coattail, and a small boy, with a streaked face, said, "Mister, did you find a 10 cent piece?"

"Yes, I found one."

"Well, I lost it, honest. Ma sent me for bread, and now she'll lick me."

"Well, here's your dime."

The boy grabbed it and ran.

That evening, when the man alighted from the car at the same corner, a boy, with a derby hat too large for him, halted him and asked: "Say, mister, did you find a dime? 'Cause I lost one on the way to the butcher's, and I'll catch it when the old man hears about it."

"Look here, I gave that dime to another boy. He said he was going to buy bread with it."

"He was stringin' you."

"I don't know what that means, but maybe the money belonged to you. Here's 10 cents."

Next morning another boy, with the proud evidence of a hole in his pocket to back up his claim, met the honest man at the front gate and asked for the dime. The man knew that some one must have lost the money, and as he didn't want to overlook the right boy he gave up another dime. That evening two more were lying in wait. He handed them 10 cents apiece on condition that they should notify all the boys in the neighborhood that he had been "worked" to the limit. — Chicago Record.

Girlless-town Swain Awaits Bride in Vain

1920

Says He Sent Her $20, but She Failed to Appear.

CINCINNATI, Ohio. — Girls, a true-blue man has been discovered. Also a town has been found where there are no eligible girls and at least twelve young men who want brides.

The man is Robert Alldaffer, 24, of Snyder, Mich., who passed his second day of waiting at Central Union station for his fiancee. He never has seen her, but promised to meet her in Cincinnati.

"There are only two girls among the fifty inhabitants of Snyder," Alldaffer said, "and they are engaged."

Alldaffer sought a wife thru a matrimonial agency. A furnished house in Snyder awaits the "bride-to-be," who represented herself as Cora Graham, widow, 25, Afton, Tenn.

The courtship dated from May 15, when she wrote to him in reply to an advertisement in the matrimonial paper. She wrote that she had no money. He mailed her $20 to pay for a railroad ticket, he said. He also provided a blue bow similar to the one he wore on his coat, for it was by the blue bow that the lovers were to identify each other.

He has scanned the faces of every woman traveler, but the young widow failed to appear. "I'm afraid she's sick," he said. "It must be that or some trouble she experienced while traveling." Alldaffer still believes in the sincerity of his bride-to-be, but finally decided to buy a ticket for home.

—The Saturday Blade, Chicago, Aug. 7, 1920, p. 5.

Loading Up Chickens

1920

Some twenty-five tons of real estate in the form of sand and gravel and masquerading as 30 cents a pound chicken almost got into the New York market this week to be sold to the ultimate consumer — or goat, notes the Hamilton (Ont.) Times. The 60,000 pounds of sand and gravel reposed in the crops of 50,000 live chickens which reached the Jersey City yards in eight carloads. They were detected in time. Is this a new or an old wrinkle?

Bay Rum Has Them Barking Like Dogs

1920

Many Weird Ways to Evade Liquor Law Reported

Embalming Fluid and Rain Water Are Sold for Whisky at Immense Profit

Clamping of the prohibitive lid on the saloons and purveyors in various brands of intoxicating liquors has brought forth some strange and amusing schemes — amusing to all but the victims — by which professional and amateur "con" men have been enabled to bamboozle hundreds Of easy marks into purchasing even dirty rainwater at six or more dollars a quart. For instance. three clever "slickers" are under arrest in Chicago for selling John Lamorec two barrels of rainwater for $1,500. He was a victim of the ingenious "funnel game" which relies for its success on the fact that what comes out of the bung may not be a true sample of the entire contents.

Buffalo, N. Y., reports that three women and two men are in a hospital there, the result of a murderous swindle. A bootlegger sold them embalming fluid for whisky. It was diluted with vanilla extract. One of the women was unconscious for thirty-six hours and is in a serious condition.

Made Them Bark Like Dogs

Adam Rufnagle and George Crowley, two Cincinnati pals, couldn't get anything else, so they drank bay rum; they made such a row in their room that the police were called in. They were found crawling about the floor and barking like dogs.

Theft of nine barrels of sacramental wine was reported to the New York police by a wholesale liquor dealer. The theft was accomplished, he said, by siphoning the wine from his basement to an adjoining cellar by means of a seventy-five-foot pipe. The owner had a special permit from the Government to keep the wine in bond to be sold for religious purposes only.

Recently there has been a rush in Army stores in Baltimore for vanilla and lemon extracts, fair sized bottles being sold for 15 cents. Investigation turned attention to the extracts and the sale has been stopped.

"Deadly Bomb" Contains Booze

What was declared to be a "deadly bomb," brought to Los Angeles by a special agent of the Tucson division of the Southern Pacific, who suspected an attempt to wreck the Golden State Limited as he picked up the thing near Yuma, when pierced by a bullet fired at a safe distance gave forth the aroma of whisky, thus exposing the wiles of Arizona bootleggers.

Nathan Barrow of Uniontown, Pa., was charged by Harry Green with the theft of five hams. Barrow declared had been listening to a phonograph playing "I've Got the Alcoholic Blues" and, being in sympathy with the song, he fell. Asked to sing it, Barrow did, and the jury freed him.

Cured by Horse Liniment

Wesley Duke of Watertown, N. Y., found a chest of medicines left in his uncle's barn by a traveling veterinary, and, discovering that one of the larger bottles was suggestive of an alcohol [*bottle, drank the] contents. The stuff was a patented horse liniment, and Wesley was barely snatched from death's door. "It, was an awful nightmare," he says, describing his sensations when delirious, during which he imagined he was a two-minute trotter pitted against a fast thorobred runner.

—The Saturday Blade, Chicago, Jan. 3, 1900, p. 2.

*Note: That in brackets is missing in the original article and is suggested by the context.

Pointed Paragraphs

1916

Leap Year is twenty-seven percent gone, girls.

Old men frequently give advice to young men — and occasionally they give up money to confidence men.

No husband is always wrong and no wife is always right. Remember this, you married disputants.

When a man offers you something for nothing you will save money by going out of your way to avoid accepting it.

Whole Country Now Infested By Chain Letters, Get Rich Quick

1935

POSTAL INSPECTORS AFTER "SEND-A-DIME" PEOPLE

Whole Country Is Now Infested by Letters — All Want to Get Rich Quick Without Work.

There isn't a scheme that comes up without its followers. The "Send-a-Dime" chain letter, which originated at Denver, Colo., is flooding the country at the present time and each day finds the number of letters received growing greater.

According to Albert Lea postoffice heads the letters have caused no large amount of extra work. Letters of this nature are coming in, however, but it has required no extra help to get them distributed to the homes in the city and county. But in many larger cities the letters are so numerous that extra help is being put on. According to dispatches this morning dime chain letter investigations are expected to culminate today with number of arrests by postoffice inspectors in several Iowa cities. Assistant Postmaster John A. Ryan, Des Moines, said Tuesday night. There are nine or ten inspectors in Iowa who have been tracing a number of chain letter originators and have obtained sufficient evidence to bring charges of fraud, Mr. Ryan said.

He indicated, however, that most of the investigations had centered in points outside of Des Moines and that the chain letter activities involving alleged fraud were headquartered in several others of the larger cities. Mr. Ryan declined, however, to name the cities where the fraud evidence had been found or the individuals for whom warrants had been issued. He added that chain letter mailings in Des Moines apparently were on the decline. Leading the drive which was expected to result in Iowa arrests yesterday, federal investigators arrested three business men Tuesday in Denver, Colo., the fountain-head of all variegated chain letter manias. The three men pleaded not guilty to a charge of using the mails to defraud in a $1 chain letter. They said they would fight the charge vigorously. The men are R. M. Barnholt, H. L. Harris and Edward W. Hughes.

Although expressing disapproval of the chain letter craze, members of some Ministerial associations said Tuesday night that no action had been taken for members to denounce the fad from the pulpit. At Burlington, Ia., the Des Moines County Ministerial association Tuesday adopted a resolution opposing "the rapidly spreading gambling mania." Members will preach sermons on the subject, stressing chain letter evils, Sunday.

An innovation of the chain letter fad occurred late Tuesday in Mason City with the arrival of telegrams requesting the recipient to wire five dollars to the first person of a list of five and then send similar telegrams to five "kindred spirits." At Mason City the first class mail volume was noticeably heavier Monday and Tuesday. A variety of the fad which was reported to have helped augment Mason City mail was a new kind of the "send-a-dollar" letter.

This letter was also reported as having been received at the Des Moines municipal airport by Wallace Fagan, United Air Lines employe. Under this scheme the letter is supposed "to prevent chiseling." It lists the names of 10 persons and directs the person receiving it to hand copies to two other persons. A dollar is to be collected on the delivery of each letter and the money sent to the first name on the list.

Every variety of chain letter of which the human mind can conceive was believed to be in the mails by Tuesday night.

One Des Moines stenographer received a letter which concluded: "Please do not break the chain. If you answer this, I can guarantee you a husband in 1946."

A chain letter which Miss Carolyn Landfear, 3809 Center street, received — and she said she had received dozens of them — elevated itself into the realm of poetry, attempting to convince her by unmetered verse that although she may have been fooled on many makes and charities, that this letter was the real thing and she should "join the parade."

Several stationers are selling chain letter forms and one newsboy in Des Moines was doing a thriving business hawking the blanks on a street corner.

—The Evening Tribune, Albert Lea, MN, May 8, 1935, page 3.

Note: "Post office" was spelled as one word and "employee" ended with one "e" back in this time period. It seems kind of weird and I don't know when it changed. Post office as one word? It's against nature!