I hated the constant chase and scramble for bargains and I hated to
yell and scream in order to create a demand for my wares by the
sheer force of my lungs. Many an illiterate dolt easily outshouted
me and thus dampened what little interest I had mustered. One
fellow in particular was a source of discouragement to me. He
was a half -witted, hideous-looking man, with no end of vocal
energy and senseless fervor. He was a veritable engine of imbecile
vitality. He would make the street ring with deafening shrieks,
working his arms and head, sputtering and foaming at the mouth
like a madman. And it produced results. His nervous fit would
have a peculiar effect on the pedestrians. One could not help
pausing and buying something of him. The block where we
usually did business was one of the best, but I hated him so
violently that I finally moved my push-cart to a less desirable
locality
I came home in despair
"Oh, it takes a blockhead to make a success of it," I complained to
Mrs.
Dienstog
"Why, why," she consoled me, "it is a sin to be grumbling like that.
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