I have been there three times. It is dreadful to wake up
and to find that all the gold in the street is nothing but moonshine.
I proceeded to the Lake City to lay the foundation of my fortune by
buying town lots. I laid the foundation on a five-acre block in West
Joliet, but had to borrow seven dollars from my nearest friend to pay
the first deposit. Chicago was then a small but busy wooden town,
with slushy streets, plank sidewalks, verandahs full of rats, and
bedrooms humming with mosquitoes. I left it penniless but proud, an
owner of real estate.
While returning to Joliet on the canal boat my nearest friend, from
whom I had borrowed the seven dollars, kindly gave me his views on
the subject of "greenhorns." (The Australian equivalent of
"greenhorn" is "new chum." I had the advantage of serving my time in
both capacities). "No greenhorn," he observed, "ever begins to get
along in the States until he has parted with his bottom dollar. That
puts a keen edge on his mind, and he grows smart in business. A
smart man don't strain his back with hard work for any considerable
time. He takes out a patent for something--a mowing machine, or
one for sowing corn and pumpkins, a new churn or wash-tub, pills for
the shakes, or, best of all, a new religion--anything, in fact,
that will catch on and fetch the public.
Pages:
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89