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“One day, when I went in to see one of these big men in Denver, he said to me, ‘Look here, Simon, you’re a mighty good fellow and I’d like to do business with you, but you know I can’t handle any goods from the concern you represent. Why don’t you make a change?’ I said to him, ‘Well, I’m really thinking about it, but I don’t know just where I can get in.’ He said, ‘I think I can give you a good tip. Old man Strauss from Chicago is out here looking for a man for this territory. He was in to see me only yesterday and told me he was on the lookout for a bright fellow. He’s stopping up at the Windsor and I’d advise you to go over and get next if you can.’

“‘Thank you very much,’ said I; and I went over to the Windsor–I was putting up there–and asked the head clerk, who was a good friend of mine, where Strauss was.

“‘Why, Simon,’ said he, ‘he’s just gone down to the depot to take the D. & R. G. for Colorado Springs, but you will have no trouble finding him if you want to see him. They’re not running any sleepers on the train. It’s just a local between here and Pueblo. He wears gold-rimmed spectacles, is bald, and smokes all the time.’

“I called a cab, rushed down to the depot, checked my trunks to Colorado Springs, and jumped on the train just as she was pulling out. I spotted the old man as I went into the coach. He was sitting in a double seat with his feet up on the cushions. I got a whiff of his ‘Lottie Lee’ ten feet away. Luckily for me, all the seats in the car except the one the old man had his feet on, were occupied, so I marched up and said, ‘Excuse me, sir, I dislike tol make you uncomfortable,’ and sat down in front of him.

“The old man saw that I was one of the boys and, as he wanted to pump me, he warmed up and offered me one of his Lotties. I shall never forget that cigar. Smoke ’em in Colorado,–smell ’em in Europe! I managed to drop it on the floor in a few minutes so that I could switch onto one of mine. I pulled out a pair of two-bit-straights and passed one over, lighting the other for myself.

“‘Dot vas a goot seecar,’ said the old man. ‘You are on der roat?’

“‘Yes,’ said I.

“‘Vat’s your bees’ness?’

“‘I’m selling clothing.’

“‘Vat? Veil, I am in dot bees’ness myself.’

“‘Who do you travel for?’ said I, playing the innocent.

“‘I’m not on de roat,’ said the old man. ‘I am just out on a leetle trip for my healt. I am a monufacturer. Who do you trafel for?’

“I told him and then tried to switch the conversation to something else. I knew the old man wouldn’t let me do it.

“‘V’ere do you trafel?’ said he.

“‘Oh, Colorado, Utah, and up into Montana and Wyoming,’ I answered.

“The old man took his feet off the cushions and his arms from the back of his seat. I thought I had him right then.

“‘Dot’s a goot contry,’ said he. ‘How long haf you been in deese beezness?’ ‘Five years,’ said I. ‘Always mit de same house?’ ‘Yes,’ said I, ‘I don’t believe in changing.’ The old man had let his cigar go out and he lit a match and let it burn his finger. I was sure that he was after me then.

“I didn’t tell him that I had been a stock boy for nearly four years and on the road a little over one. It is a good sign, you know, if a man has been with a house a long time.

“‘How’s beezness this season?’ said he.

“‘Oh, it’s holding up to the usual mark,’ I said like an old timer.