Horatio Alger - Slow and Sure - The Story of Paul Hoffman the Young Street-Merchant

"Then I owe you a dollar and twenty cents, mother."

"I don't think you ought to pay me five cents apiece, Paul."

"That's fair enough, mother. If I get fourteen cents for selling a tie, certainly you ought to get five cents for making one."

"But your money goes to support us, Paul."

"And where does yours go, mother?"

"A part of it has gone for a new dress, Paul. I went up to Stewart's to-day and bought a dress pattern. I will show it to you after supper."

"That's right, mother. You don't buy enough new dresses. Considering that you are the mother of a successful merchant, you ought to dash out. Doesn't Jimmy want some clothes?"

"I am going to buy him a new suit to-morrow. He is eight years old to-morrow."

"Is he? What an old fellow you are getting to be, Jimmy! How many gray hairs have you got?"

"I haven't counted," said Jimmy, laughing.

"I tell you what, mother, we must celebrate Jimmy's birthday. He is the only artist in the family, and we must treat him with proper consideration. I'll tell you what, Jimmy, I'll close up my business at twelve o'clock, and give all my clerks a half-holiday. Then I'll take you and mother to Barnum's Museum, where you can see all the curiosities, and the play besides. How would you like that?"

"Ever so much, Paul," said the little boy, his eyes brightening at the prospect. "There's a giant there, isn't there? How tall is he?"

"Somewhere about eighteen feet, I believe."

"Now you are making fun, Paul."

"Well, it's either eighteen or eight, one or the other. Then there's a dwarf, two feet high, or is it inches?"

"Of course it's feet. He couldn't be so little as two inches."

"Well, Jimmy, I dare say you're right. Then it's settled that we go to the museum tomorrow. You must go with us, mother."

"Oh, yes, I will go," said Mrs. Hoffman, "and I presume I shall enjoy it nearly as much as Jimmy."

Barnum's Museum now lives only in the past. Its successor, known as Wood's Museum, is situated at the corner of Twenty-ninth street and Broadway. But at the time of my story the old Barnum's stood below the Astor House, on the site now occupied by those magnificent structures, the Herald building and the Park Bank. Hither flowed daily and nightly a crowd of visitors who certainly got the worth of their money, only twenty-five cents, in the numberless varied curiosities which the unequaled showman had gathered from all quarters of the world.

Jimmy had often seen the handbills and advertisements of the museum, but had never visited it, and now anticipated with eagerness the moment when all its wonders should be revealed to him. In fact, he waked up about two hours earlier than usual to think of the treat in store for him.

Paul, as he had promised, closed up his business at twelve o'clock and came home. At half-past one the three were on their way to the museum. The distance was but short, and a very few minutes found them in the museum. Jimmy's eyes opened wide as they took in the crowded exhibition room, and he hardly knew what to look at first, until the approach of a giant eight feet high irresistibly attracted him. It is a remarkable circumstance that Barnum's giants were always eight feet high on the bill, though not always by measure. Sometimes the great showman lavishly provided two or three of these Titans. Where they came from nobody knew. It has been conjectured by some that they were got up to order; but upon this point I cannot speak with certainty. As a general thing they are good-natured and harmless, in spite of their formidable proportions, and ready to have a joke at their own expense.

"Oh, see that big man!" exclaimed Jimmy, struck with awe, as he surveyed the formidable proportions of the giant.

"He's bigger than you will ever be, Jimmy," said Paul.

"I wouldn't like to be so tall," said the little boy.

"Why not? You could whip all the fellows that tried to tease you."

"They don't tease me much, Paul."

"Do they tease you at all?" asked his brother quickly.

"Not very often. Sometimes they call me Limpy, because I am lame."

"I'd like to catch any boy doing it," said Paul energetically. "I'd make him see stars."

"I don't mind, Paul."

"But I do. Just let me catch the next fellow that calls you Limpy, and he won't do it again."

By this time a group had gathered round the giant. Paul and Jimmy joined it.

"Was you always so large?" asked a boy at Paul's side.

"I was rather smaller when I was a baby," said the giant, laughing.

"How much do you weigh?"

"Two hundred and seventy-five pounds."

"That beats you, Jimmy," said Paul.

"Were you big when you were a boy?"

"I was over seven feet high on my fifteenth birthday," said the giant.

"Did the teacher lick you often?" asked one of the boys shyly.

"Not very often. He couldn't take me over his knee very well."

"What an awful lot of cloth you must take for your clothes!" said the last boy.

"That's so, my lad. I keep a manufactory running all the time to keep me supplied."

"Do you think that's true, Paul?" asked Jimmy, doubtfully.

"Not quite," answered Paul, smiling.

"Don't you need to eat a good deal?" was the next question.

"Oh, no, not much. Half a dozen chickens and a couple of turkeys are about all I generally eat for dinner. Perhaps I could eat more if I tried. If any of you boys will invite me to dinner I'll do my best."

"I'm glad you ain't my son," said one of the boys. "I shouldn't like to keep you in food and clothes."

"Well, now, I shouldn't mind having you for a father," said the giant, humorously looking down upon his questioner, a boy of twelve, and rather small of his age, with a humorous twinkle in his eye. "You wouldn't whip me very often, would you?"

Here there was a laugh at the expense of the small boy, and the group dispersed.

"Now, you've seen a large man, Jimmy," said Paul. "I'm going next to show you a small one."

They moved on to a different part of the building, and joined another crowd, this time surrounding the illustrious Tom Thumb, at that time one of the attractions of the museum.

"There's a little man, smaller than you are, Jimmy," said Paul.

"So he is," said Jimmy. "Is that Tom Thumb?"

"Yes."

"I didn't think he was so small. I'm glad I'm not so little."

"No, it might not be very comfortable, though you could make a good deal of money by it. Tom is said to be worth over a hundred thousand dollars."

"I guess it doesn't cost him so much for clothes as the giant."

"Probably not. I don't think he would need to run a manufactory for his own use."

But there were multitudes of curiosities to be seen, and they could not linger long. Jimmy was particularly interested in the waxwork figures, which at first he thought must be real, so natural was their appearance. There were lions and tigers in cages, who looked out from between the gratings as if they would like nothing better than to make a hearty meal from one or more of the crowd who surrounded the cages. Jimmy clung to Paul's hand timidly.

"Couldn't they get out, Paul?" he asked.

"No, the cages are too strong. But even if they could, I don't think they would attack you. You would only be a mouthful for them."

"I don't see how Mr. Barnum dared to put them in the cages."

"I don't think Barnum would dare to come very near them. But he has keepers who are used to them."

But it was time for the afternoon performance to commence. The play was Uncle Tom's Cabin, which no doubt many of my readers have seen. They got very good seats, fronting the stage, though some distance back. When the curtain rose Jimmy's attention was at once absorbed. It was the first time he had ever seen a play, and it seemed to him a scene of rare enchantment. To Paul, however, it was much less of a novelty. He had frequently been to Barnum's and the Old Bowery, though not as often as those boys who had no home in which to spend their evenings. Mrs. Hoffman was scarcely less interested than Jimmy in the various scenes of the play. It was not particularly well acted, for most of the actors were indifferent in point of talent; but then none of the three were critics, and could not have told the difference between them and first-class performers.