Struggles and Triumphs P. T. Barnum (the beginning after the end read novel .TXT) 📖

law” arranged his pen, ink and paper, and in a loud voice, and with a most peremptory and supercilious air, asked:

“What is your name, sir?”

I answered him, and his next question, given in a louder and more peremptory tone, was:

“What is your business?”

“Attending bar,” I meekly replied.

“Attending bar!” he echoed, with an appearance of much surprise; “Attending bar! Why, don’t you profess to be a temperance man⁠—a teetotaler?”

“I do,” I replied.

“And yet, sir, do you have the audacity to assert that you peddle rum all day, and drink none yourself?”

“I doubt whether that is a relevant question,” I said in a low tone of voice.

“I will appeal to his honor the judge, if you don’t answer it instantly,” said Quilp in great glee.

“I attend bar, and yet never drink intoxicating liquors,” I replied.

“Where do you attend bar, and for whom?” was the next question.

“I attend the bar of this court, nearly every day, for the benefit of twopenny, would-be lawyers and their greedy clients,” I answered.

A loud tittering in the vicinity only added to the vexation which was already visible on the countenance of my interrogator, and he soon brought his examination to a close.

On another occasion, a young lawyer was pushing his inquiries to a great length, when, in a half laughing, apologetic tone, he said:

“You see, Mr. Barnum, I am searching after the small things; I am willing to take even the crumbs which fall from the rich man’s table!”

“Which are you, Lazarus, or one of the dogs?” I asked.

“I guess a bloodhound would not smell out much on this trail,” he said good-naturedly, adding that he had no more questions to ask.

I still continued to receive many offers of pecuniary assistance, which, whenever proposed in the form of a gift, I invariably refused. In a number of instances, personal friends tendered me their checks for $500, $1,000, and other sums, but I always responded in substance: “Oh, no, I thank you; I do not need it; my wife has considerable property, besides a large income from her Museum lease. I want for nothing; I do not owe a dollar for personal obligations that is not already secured, and when the clock creditors have fully investigated and thought over the matter, I think they will be content to divide my property among themselves and let me up.”

Just after my failure, and on account of the ill-health of my wife, I spent a portion of the summer with my family in the farmhouse of Mr. Charles Howell, at Westhampton, on Long Island. The place is a mile west of Quogue, and was then called “Ketchebonneck.” The thrifty and intelligent farmers of the neighborhood were in the habit of taking summer boarders, and the place had become a favorite resort. Mr. Howell’s farm lay close upon the ocean and I found the residence a cool and delightful one. Surf bathing, fishing, shooting and fine roads for driving made the season pass pleasantly and the respite from active life and immediate annoyance from my financial troubles was a very great benefit to me.

Our landlord was an eccentric character, who took great pleasure in showing me to his friends and neighbors as “the Museum man,” and consequently, as a great curiosity; for in his estimation, the American Museum was chief among the institutions of New York. He was in a habit of gathering shells and such rarities as came within his reach, which he took to the city and disposed of at the Museum. He often spoke of certain phenomena in his neighborhood, which he thought would take well with the public, if they were properly brought out. One day he said:

“Mr. Barnum, I am going to Moriches this morning, and I want you to go along with me and see a great curiosity there is there.”

“What is it?” I asked.

“It is a man who has got a natural honk,” replied Howell, “and it is worth fifty dollars a year to him.”

“A what?” I inquired.

“A honk! a honk! a perfectly natural honk! he makes fifty dollars a year out of it,” Howell reiterated.

I could not comprehend what a “honk” was, but concluded that if it was worth fifty dollars a year among the Long Island fishermen and farmers who could hardly be expected to pay much for mere sightseeing, it would be much more valuable to exhibit in the Museum. So I remarked that as I was authorized by Messrs. Greenwood and Butler to purchase curiosities for them, I would go with him and buy the honk from its possessor if I could get it at a reasonable price.

“Buy it!” exclaimed Howell; “I guess you can’t buy it! You don’t seem to understand me; the man has got a natural honk, I tell you; that is, he honks exactly like a wild goose; when flocks are flying over he goes out and honks and the geese, supposing that some goose has settled and is honking for the rest of the flock to come down and feed, all fly towards the ground and he ‘lets into ’em’ with his gun, thus killing a great many, and in this way his honk is worth fifty dollars a year to him, and perhaps more.”

I decided not to attempt to buy the “honk,” but my eagerness to do so and my entire ignorance of the character of the curiosity furnished food for laughter to Howell and his neighbors for a long time.

One morning we discovered that the waves had thrown upon the beach a young black whale some twelve feet long. It was dead, but the fish was hard and fresh and I bought it for a few dollars from the men who had taken possession of it. I sent it at once to the Museum, where it was exhibited in a huge refrigerator for a few days, creating considerable excitement, the general public considering it “a big thing on ice,” and the managers gave me a share of the profits, which amounted to a sufficient sum to pay the