He had a sign painted with th'
tip on it an' hung it out th' window, an' he found a man that carrid a
thrombone in a band goin' over to Buffalo, an' he had him set th' good
thing to music an' play it through th' thrain. Whin he got to New York
he stopped at the Waldorf Asthoria, an' while th' barber was powdhrin'
his face with groun' dimons Jawn tol' him to take th' money he was goin'
to buy a policy ticket with an' get in on th' good thing. He tol' th'
bootblack, th' waiter, th' man at th' news-stand, th' clerk behind th'
desk, an' th' bartinder in his humble abode. He got up a stereopticon
show with pitchers iv a widow-an-orphan befure an' afther wirin', an' he
put an advertisement in all th' pa-apers tellin' how his stock wud make
weak men sthrong. He had th' tip sarved hot in all th' resthrants in
Wall sthrcet, an' told it confidintially to an open-air meetin' in
Madison Square. 'They'se nawthin,' he says, 'that does a tip so much
good as to give it circulation,' he says. 'I think, be this time,' he
says, 'all me frinds knows how to proceed, but--Great Hivins!' he says.
'What have I done? Whin all the poor people go to get th' stock they
won't be anny f'r thim. I can not lave thim thus in th' lurch. Me
reputation as a gintleman an' a fi-nanceer is at stake,' he says.
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