Part 68

He went on with the details of his scheme, which was plausible enough, only it was a trifle too large. Had he been an adventurer, I should have suspected him at once; but here was a scientific gentleman, whose name was on the title page of a book that had been received as an authority, and, so far as I knew, his reputation was without blemish. I was captivated by the brilliancy of the enterprise, and readily consented to join him and bring the matter to the attention of some of my friends. He wanted about twenty thousand dollars for a share in the secret, and as capital wherewith to set up and stock his proposed laboratory. To wind up the evening and leave me fully convinced, he opened a crucible, which, he averred, he had that afternoon taken from the furnace and laid away to cool. From the black mass of slag at the bottom he extracted a couple of sapphires, smaller than the ones he had previously shown me, but as perfect in every way as the others. My mind was nearly but not quite made up. I asked the privilege of taking one of these latest sapphires, and also one of the others, to show to a friend whom I wished to join me in the speculation.

The professor consented, with the injunction that I must not reveal the secret of their manufacture, and that I should be very cautious about exciting the suspicion of any outsider as to their artificial character. “We must be very careful,” said he, “not to let the dealers know that the stones are not dug from the ground, like all others in the market. They are in every respect the same, but the question of demand and supply tells more readily on precious stones than on anything else that men deal in.”

[Sidenote: FINDING A CLUE.]

Next morning I jumped into an omnibus and rode down town. I went to a lapidary on John Street, with whom I had a slight acquaintance, and at once showed him my sapphires. He looked at them just an instant, and asked what I wanted to know about them. I asked what he called those stones.

“Well,” he replied, with a smile, “they are very good imitations of sapphires.”

“Imitations!”

“Yes, imitations; I ought to know, for I made them myself.”

A gigantic flea at that instant—a flea as large as an elephant—entered my right ear, and jumped about like a schoolboy exercising across a gutter. The lapidary continued, that he made the stones to order, and three others at the same time, about a month before, but declined to tell me for whom they were made. They were made of strass, a fine article of glass, consisting mainly of potash, oxide of lead, borax, and silex. Nearly all artificial gems are made of strass, and the colors are obtained by adding certain oxides while the substance is in a state of fusion. Diamonds, sapphires, rubies, and amethysts, made of strass, may deceive a novice, and even be made so skilfully as to require a careful test before deciding on their character; but you can no more sell them for genuine to a regular dealer than you can make a butcher buy a poodle under the belief that it is a bull-dog.

I returned the gems to the professor that evening, with the brief explanation that my friend was averse to a speculation on account of a lack of funds, and that an unexpected development had rendered it impossible for me to invest. He did not press for an explanation, and we separated with mutual regrets.

Another time a man who had been for several years on the Pacific coast came to New York, and lived a month or two at my hotel, without any appearance of business. I formed an acquaintance with him one day at the table, and found that he was a good talker, and well informed on mining matters. Our acquaintance ran on a week or so, and one day he invited me to his room, and showed me some specimens of copper ore. They were of wonderful richness, and while I was looking at them he explained that he knew where there was a vein six feet wide and a half a mile long of just such ore. He said it in the most careless way imaginable, and remarked that he thought he had about as good a thing as there was going.

[Sidenote: A BOGUS COPPER MINE.]

I thought so, too; and after a few minutes’ conversation we separated. Nothing more was said for several days, when finally he asked if I knew anybody who would like to join him in working the mine and sharing the profits. There was more than he wanted for himself, and he would like to be relieved of the trouble of looking after it. The mine was on the Colorado River, in Lower California, and was a very easy one to work. I took some of his samples of ore, and showed them to a speculating friend, who said, “This is a wonderfully rich ore, and there is no end of money in it, if he is talking the truth. It is worth looking into, but we must be cautious.”

Ten of us formed a company, and agreed to pay him a hundred thousand dollars for a half interest in the mine, if it turned out as he represented. He described it minutely, over and over again, and his story appeared perfectly plausible. He was ready to go there with any of us, show us the property, and satisfy us that he had told the truth. We sent one of our number to California with him, and at San Francisco a couple of gentlemen, to whom we had written, joined the twain, and made a party of four to go to the copper mine. All the way he talked about the mine—from New York to San Francisco, and from the latter city to the Colorado River. Several copper mines had been opened in that region, and he spent a day escorting the party among the reduction works of these companies. Up the banks of the river he led them about twenty miles from the last of these mines, and then acknowledged that the whole thing was a deception, and that he had no mine to sell.

The two Californians proposed shooting him on the spot; but the New Yorker had a prejudice against shedding blood, and persuaded his friends to let the scoundrel escape. He did not return with them, and he never reappeared in New York; but he did turn up in San Francisco, where he sold for ten thousand dollars (and obtained the money for it), a quarter interest in a mine to which he had no more title than I have to a township in the moon. He was a plausible wretch, and could look you straight in the eye while telling a lie as big and as plump as the swelled head of an Irishman the morning after a wake.

[Sidenote: SHOT BY MISTAKE.]

I believe he was subsequently mistaken for a coyote, and shot by a miner whose claim he had been endeavoring to steal and sell. The miner regretted the mistake, or, at all events, said that he was sorry that somebody else had not made the mistake, and made it earlier.

LXV.

PERQUISITES.

CURIOSITIES OF COMMERCIAL TRANSACTIONS.—PAYING COMMISSIONS IN EUROPE.—FUNNY EXPERIENCES.—SPREAD OF THE CUSTOM IN AMERICA.—HOW CONTRACTS ARE OBTAINED AND PAID FOR.—COMMISSIONS TO TRADESMEN AND OTHERS.—CURIOUS FEATURES OF THE PIANO TRADE.

American travellers in Europe frequently express astonishment at the commission system which prevails there among all classes of people. From the moment you land on European soil till the moment you leave it, you are the subject, or rather the object, of commissioners of every possible variety. I do not refer to the parties who expect and require you to pay money for direct services, but to those who make money out of you in an indirect way. You step on the dock at Liverpool or Havre, and an officious porter takes you in charge, and hands you over to a cabman. You pay the porter for his services, and think that the money you give him is all he receives. Not a bit of it. The cabman gives the porter a commission on the money which you pay for your ride, and very often this commission is a heavy one. Instances have come to my knowledge wherein the porter or servant engaging a carriage was paid twenty-five per cent. of the fare; and I once looked from a doorway in Rome, and saw the cabman give my _valet de place_ exactly half the money which the former had received from me; and I had paid him only a few cents above the regular tariff. The couriers, or travelling servants, receive a commission on the hotel bills of the tourists whom they accompany, and also a commission on nearly all their bills of whatever sort. If you make purchases in shops, it will very likely make a difference of five or ten per cent. in your bills whether you are accompanied by a courier or valet. Some of these fellows are constantly urging you to go to shops where you are likely to buy something, and very ingenious are the devices by which they wheedle you, or endeavor to wheedle you, into buying something. The shrewdest of them pretend to be your friends, and take your part with a great deal of vigor. I have in mind a valet that a party of us hired, one day, to show us the sights in the vicinity of Naples. We thought he was a capital fellow, as he was exceedingly earnest in his efforts to save us from the grasp of the swindlers. There were many sights to be seen, and consequently many fees to be paid; and he took especial care that we did not pay too much. A custodian would demand four francs for admitting the party to the special curiosity in his charge. “Two francs is the proper charge,” our conductor would say; and if the custodian persisted in his outrageous demand, our guardian would threaten to erect a dormer window on him. We, of course, would pay the two francs, and rejoice that we had not been defrauded. We learned, next day, that one franc would have been sufficient, and that the extra franc was divided between the custodian and our valet. He made a nice day’s work of it, as he received, in addition to his hire and commissions, a present of five francs from us for his fidelity. When we returned to the city, he took us to a coral store, but declined to enter, as he feared the proprietor would take advantage of us on account of his presence, and charge an extra sum, on pretence of expecting to pay commission. We learned afterwards that this was one of the tricks of the trade. It made us more willing to purchase, as it threw us off our guard; and no doubt the storekeeper and the valet had a laugh over the circumstance when the latter received his commission. For ways that are dark, and for tricks that are not in vain, commend me to a courier or a _valet de place_ in Europe.

[Sidenote: TRICKS UPON EUROPEAN TRAVELLERS.]

[Sidenote: REGULATING SWINDLES.]

Sometimes this universal practice of giving commissions leads to funny experiences on the part of travellers. In 1867, the year of the Exposition, it was my fortune to be in Paris, and to see the capital in its gayest and most prosperous times. Every Parisian, in whatever business engaged, was counting upon making a fortune, or, at all events, upon laying a broad and solid foundation for it. Prices were exorbitant; trade was brisk, and money was plenty. For had not the foreigners come from all parts of the globe, with abundance of cash, which they were scattering as the farmer scatters the grain he sows? The police came to the relief of the much-defrauded public; but though they regulated the cabmen and other public personages, they could not regulate the shop-keepers. Merchants would coolly demand a hundred francs for an article worth no more than twenty, and when you taxed them with an attempt to swindle, they explained that they must live, and that rents were very high. One day I found a small spot of grease on my hat, and stepped into a hat store close by the Grand Hotel. The shopman examined the hat for at least a minute, and then sent for the foreman of the work-room. The latter came, and the twain held a solemn consultation, that resulted in a proposition to eradicate the obnoxious grease if they could have three days’ time, and at an expense of twelve francs. I declined, and walked out. The same afternoon, at a small hat store in the Latin Quarter, the stain was removed inside of ten minutes, by the use of a hot iron; and the whole work cost but half a franc.

[Sidenote: AN AMUSING EXPERIENCE.]

There were lots of Americans in Paris at that time, and the most of them did not know enough French to swear in, much less to make a purchase, or order a breakfast. They used to fall upon such of us as knew the language, and compel us to act the part of valets in accompanying them on shopping tours. Very soon we were utterly sick of this amusement, and used to invent all sorts of excuses to be rid of it. One day I had some fun that lasted me a week at least, and was a standing joke, which several of my friends enjoyed hugely. A gentleman and lady of my acquaintance induced me to accompany them to a shop on the _Rue de la Paix_, where I was to act as their interpreter in some projected purchases. I was the go-between in the transaction, and faithfully rendered the English of the patrons into the French of the shop-keeper, and _vice versâ_. The purchases amounted to nearly three hundred francs; the goods were wrapped, and the money was paid over. My friends were taking a final glance into the show-cases on one side of the shop, while I was looking at something on the other side, and holding, by accident, my open hand on the counter. The shopman slipped a twenty-franc piece into my hand. His action surprised me for an instant; but I speedily comprehended the situation, closed upon the coin, and then took a sly glance at it. “_Dix francs encore_,” I demanded, in a whisper, and shook my head. There was a look of expostulation on the face of the merchant; but I repeated my demand, and received the extra ten francs. We left the shop, and I kept the occurrence to myself until evening, when I narrated it, in the _café_ of the Grand Hotel, to a little group which included the gentleman whom I had accompanied. He was boasting of the cheapness with which he bought his articles that day, and recommended the shop as the most honest one in Paris. Then I came out with my story, and produced the identical money received from the dealer in _bijouterie_. The champagne which was bought with those thirty francs proved to be a very good article, but somewhat high priced, though no more so than the like material which my patron was obliged to purchase as soon as my commission was expended. He did not hear the last of that affair for some time, nor did I.

The foregoing is a prologue to a few remarks—rather a long prologue, I admit—upon the fraud of this custom of giving commissions in America. How long it has existed here, I do not know. Quite likely the fellow who negotiated the sale of Manhattan Island for twenty-four dollars, in the days of Hendrick Hudson, received a commission for his services; and it may be that the ministers who surrounded Ferdinand and Isabella, and persuaded them to listen to the daring Genoese navigator, and favor his project for a new route to the Indies, received a commission from Columbus as soon as the money for equipping his fleet was secured from the king and queen. History records that the Mayflower was very poorly equipped when she sailed with the Pilgrims for Plymouth Rock, and that the contractors who furnished her did not comply either with the letter or spirit of their agreement. If the matter could be investigated, I have little doubt we should find that the contractors were obliged to pay a commission to somebody, and that they found it so heavy as to take away all their profits, and compel them to the dreadful alternatives of being dishonest or losing money by the operation. At any rate, this is frequently the case nowadays, and I have known a man to be pressed so sorely by the commission-seekers that he found a contract, originally supposed to be very fat, to turn out so lean as to be no better than a skeleton. Particularly is this so with matters connected with the city government in New York.

[Sidenote: STORY OF THE TAMMANY RING.]

In the days of the Ring, a man would seek, we will say, a contract for paving a certain number of streets. He would pay a member of the Board of Aldermen to introduce a resolution authorizing the said pavement. Then a committee would be appointed to investigate the matter, and the committee would need something to help support their families, and also to secure a favorable report. Next it would be necessary to interview a sufficient number of the members to make a majority, and then the resolution would go through. The same course would be followed with the Board of Assistant Aldermen before the resolution would become a law of the city, and enable the pavement to proceed. And when the work is finished, there is trouble about getting the money for it. First comes the inspector, who is to pronounce upon the work, and say whether the terms of the contract have been met. His salary is small, and his expenses are large. He is the head of a numerous family, and is required to contribute to the success of his political party; and such success requires money. A judicious salve of greenbacks spread over the contract enables him to see as he should see, and he reports favorably. Then come the Board of Audit, Supervisors, and the like. They may not all need money; but there are certain members and _attachés_ who are poor, but dishonest, and are struggling manfully against the floods and storms of this wicked and weary world. Delays are dangerous and vexatious, and to secure expedition and favorable action, there is nothing so good as money. And then there is the work of getting the money after the payment has been ordered, and very often somebody in the financial department of the city and county of New York will demand and receive his commission. Then there are outside bills to persons of influence, and when one has been settled, another and another will make its appearance.

[Sidenote: UNDERCURRENTS OF CONTRACTS.]

I have made no fancy sketch. This is the history of many a contract—probably of most of the contracts—with the city government of New York in the past twenty-five years. And it is for this reason that such exorbitant prices are paid for paving, street cleaning, and all other city work; and it is for this reason that many contracts which appear exceedingly profitable on their face, really furnish little or no profit. I have known several men who had large contracts on which they actually lost money, and I have in mind one who was driven into bankruptcy by a contract out of which he expected to make a large amount of money. He had calculated upon a shave of fifty per cent., and made his terms accordingly. But his actual proceeds were only twenty-two per cent. of the face of the contract, and even for that amount he was compelled to wait so long that he could not meet his outstanding bills, and became a financial wreck. Other city governments may be bad, but I think none of them are equal to that which has its scene of operations on Manhattan Island. I leave out of the case altogether the forgeries and raised bills of the Ring operators, and consider only those contracts which may be classed as strictly legitimate.

[Sidenote: THE HOTEL-KEEPER AND ALDERMEN.]

There is a good little story which is told of a noted hotel-keeper, whose name I will not mention, though there are dozens of New Yorkers who can give it, and can vouch for the correctness of the narrative. Some years ago there was a foreign embassy here, and the city government showed many attentions to it. Our Boniface obtained from the Board of Aldermen an order for a grand dinner to the embassy, and a splendid affair it was. The bill was about three times what it should have been; but Boniface was a good fellow, and agreed to divide with the aldermen if they would put it through. They did so, and, what was more, they ordered the immediate payment of the money. It was paid; and Boniface sent word to the members who had befriended him to come to the hotel at a certain hour, next day, and he would do the handsome thing. They came promptly, every man of them, and were assembled in one of the parlors. Boniface was among them, with a greeting for everybody, and he poured out his wine in the most liberal manner. He was a good talker, and kept them amused with his wine and his stories for a full hour or more. But time was pressing, and some of them hinted that they had better end the business, and separate.

“Don’t go yet,” said Boniface; “take some more wine.”

They took it, and hinted that they came for the divide.

“Take some more wine, boys; I’m going to do the handsome thing.”

“But that divvy, Bonny,” urged one of the party. “We can’t stay longer, as we have a meeting this afternoon, and it is almost time for it.”

“Boys,” said the hotel-keeper, “I’ve just ordered a basket of this wine for each of you, and you will find it at your houses when you go home.”

“Hang the wine! We want that money, and that’s what we came for.”

“Now, boys,” said Bonny, seating himself in an arm-chair, and smiling till his mouth resembled the entrance to a railway tunnel, “I suppose you’d call me a d—d skunk, if I went back on you, and didn’t hand over a cent.”

“Of course we should,” said half a dozen, almost in unison; “but we don’t think you’d do that.”

“Well, that’s just about the size of it,” he replied. “I’ve got the money, and mean to keep it. You may have all the wine you want, but I’m not going to corrupt you with money, and you may call me what you d—n please. Have some more wine, boys; have some more wine.”

The boys were in no mood for drinking just then. They went away sorrowing, and they all cursed him in all the epithets known to the language. It is even said that they offered liberal premiums to anybody who would invent fresh forms of swearing, so that they could speak their minds fairly. Common profanity wouldn’t do.

[Sidenote: AN UNDERTAKING COMMISSION.]

Few persons have any idea of the extent of this commission business in ordinary affairs. I mean those unconnected with politics. It would be difficult to name any branch of business where commissions are not paid to somebody. Lawyers give commissions to those who send them clients; doctors pay those who recommend them to patients; grocers, butchers, bakers, and candlestick makers pay commissions to those who send them patronage; tailors, milliners, haberdashers, confectioners, florists, bar-keepers, taverners—in fact, nearly all persons who buy, or sell, or fill orders, are obliged to pay commissions to somebody. Railway companies, steamship companies, and dozens of other corporations—reputed to be without souls—pay commissions, and will continue to pay them to the end of time. Even undertakers are not exempt. I know of two cases wherein they have paid for the business which came to them, and have heard of several others. One that was told me a few weeks ago was as follows: A woman in a fashionable boarding-house died suddenly, and her husband asked the landlady to send for an undertaker. She did so, and the job proved a good one, as the bereaved husband was possessed of considerable money, and wished to do the thing up in style. He told the undertaker to make the funeral a swell one, and not to stand on expense. The undertaker obeyed orders, and the affair was the envy of the remaining boarders in the house. A day or two after the payment of the bill, the landlady called at the coffin shop, and quietly hinted that a death in a house is a sad thing, especially in a boarding-house. The undertaker assented, and without further parley drew a check for fifty dollars, which consoled the unhappy matron, and turned her sorrow into delight. When another boarder dies she will not forget this slight testimonial of the undertaker’s respect and esteem.

[Sidenote: TAILORS AND THE BILLS THEY PAY.]