hicago,
accompanied by my mother and my son Frankie. Mr. Keefer had been
desirous for some time of visiting the city, to see how "that boy"
managed his business. On their arrival, I escorted them to my store,
when, after looking over the several clerks and book-keepers, Mr. Keefer
asked:

"Who are all these people working for?"

"Why, they are working for me."

Just then the postman came in with a large package of letters, and when
I began opening them, and extracting money orders, drafts, checks and
currency, he gazed steadily for a few moments and said:

"Is that all money, Perry?"

"Certainly; checks and drafts are as good as cash."

"But where do you get it from?"

"From Maine to California, and from Manitoba to Mexico."

He looked on quietly for a few moments, and turning to my mother, said:

"Well, it does beat the devil."

I took a great deal of pleasure in showing him the city, and escorting
him to the many places of interest and amusement. My mother had often
visited the larger cities, and was not so much interested as he was.

Although it was his first visit, I paid him the compliment of appearing
more accustomed to city life than any person I had ever seen who had
never before been away from his own neighborhood. From his cool,
unexcitable, matter-of-fact way, one would have supposed that he had
always been inured to the excitement and bustle of the city.

[Illustration: SPIN ON THE BOULEVARD WITH MR. KEEFER.]

On the first pleasant day after their arrival, I took Mr. Keefer a whirl
down the boulevard, behind a handsome pair of chestnut-sorrel horses
which I had dealt for a few days before. As we went dashing along at a
lively rate he hung to his hat with one hand and to the buggy with the
other, and asked what such a team cost me. When I answered his question,
he said:

"That team is worth more than all the horses we ever had on our farm at
any one time. Well, I always said you'd 'get there' some day, Perry."

A few days prior to his visit, I had made a trade for a half interest in
a livery and sale stable, owned and run by an old acquaintance named
Kintz, who is mentioned in the seventh chapter of this book. He is the
man who was running a bakery at Clyde, and whose gold watch I traded to
the Telegraph Operator, receiving five dollars to boot from each of
them, which I placed to my own credit as middleman.

John had come on to Chicago and opened this stable, after several years'
experien