The Snake-Oil Dickens Man. Ross Gilfillan
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A man doesn’t come to have an establishment as fine as this without being sharp.’
Merriweather nodded complacently.
‘So I hardly need to explain to you the opportunity this will afford?’
‘No, no, I can see that. I heard what it’s done for other places. Why only this morning, I was saying to Silas Amory that what this town needs is some big attraction. I guess the Barnum show would do it.’
‘And you would be agreeable that Mr Barnum and his party lodge here? I did notice another establishment by the railroad …’
‘That plague-hole ain’t fit for Mr Barnum,’ said Merriweather. ‘No, you must have him come here. He’ll get the best of everything.’
‘That’s well because, of course, that’s what he is used to. Now, it’s a tedious business but there are certain small matters that will need attending to before I telegraph Mr Barnum with confirmation that both town and accommodation will suit.’
Telegraph Mr Barnum! That was a good ’un, I thought, as I refilled the glasses.
In the event the business seemed anything but tedious to Mr D’Orleans as he listed the requirements of P.T. Barnum and Merriweather copied them down. D’Orleans was evidently a man who delighted in making the most thorough of preparations. He rocked back in his chair, put his shiny boots upon the table and invited me to light his cigar.
‘Mr Barnum is partial to a good smoke,’ he began. ‘These will never do. But you can procure more?’
‘Oh, cigars? I don’t think that’ll be no problem,’ said Merriweather.
‘And while this sort of thing,’ he indicated the bones of the fowl on his plate, ‘is quite adequate for Wilkes and I, when it comes to Mr Barnum, it simply won’t do. I’m sure you understand.’
‘’Course I do,’ said Merriweather. ‘You just tell me what he wants and I’ll see he gets it.’
‘I should have your cellar replenished.’ He tossed off a bumper of Merriweather’s premium claret as if it were sarsaparilla. ‘I can recommend some vintages, if you like.’
Merriweather frowned at the stranger and said: ‘Pardon me, but I thought he was a teetotaller?’
‘Mr Barnum is, certainly,’ said D’Orleans. ‘It keeps the temperance folk sweet, but,’ and he touched his nose, ‘there are those of his party who are partial to a good Bordeaux. With the time they have spent in France, how could it be otherwise? I shall need to inspect your cellar.’
‘Well, there ain’t much to inspect but I guess I can get more supplied,’ said Merriweather.
‘Then there’s the matter of accommodation. He’ll take your best apartment.’
‘Nothing wrong with the one you’ve got, is there?’
‘Mr Barnum will want something more spacious. And, of course, rooms for his closer associates.’
‘Of course, of course. How many?’
‘All of them, at least,’ said D’Orleans.
‘But I have gentlemen occupying half of them,’ the hotelier demurred.
‘That’s your affair, of course. However, if I were you …’
‘They’ll be gone tomorrow,’ said Merriweather. ‘I’ll pack ’em off to the Central Pacific Hotel.’ Merriweather had begun to look uneasy. He loosened his collar, about which he appeared to be feeling some warmth.
‘There will be no problem?’ asked D’Orleans. ‘Because if there is, you should say so now and we will decamp to the Pacific.’
‘There’s no problem. It’s just going to be a big outlay. And what about my guests? They may never come back.’
‘Spend money to make money,’ smiled D’Orleans. ‘Barnum under this roof should be advertising sufficient to put this place on the map. A moderate outlay now will certainly return itself and more later. There was a fellow in St Louis, had a small but decent enough hotel. Barnum stayed and now he’s got the biggest place in town.’
‘He’s rich as creases,’ said Wilkes.
Merriweather smiled uncertainly. ‘Let me help you to another glass,’ said D’Orleans. ‘I think we understand each other. Now we come to those details peculiar to entertaining Mr Barnum’s party.’
Merriweather sat stiffly, like a rod in a lightning storm.
‘The General will expect special accommodation.’
‘The General?’ said Merriweather.
‘Gen’ral Tom Thumb, o’ course,’ said Wilkes.
‘You’ll know that General Thumb is travelling with Barnum?’ said D’Orleans.
‘I suppose he is,’ said Merriweather. ‘What of it?’
‘It’s your beds,’ said D’Orleans, ‘I measured them at three feet …’
‘And six inches,’ said Wilkes, consulting his notebook.
‘From floorboard to quilt,’ said Mr D’Orleans. ‘They will never do for the General. He will expect a bed of an appropriate size.’
‘Well, where can I get one of those? A child’s crib?’
‘A child’s crib? That would be far beneath his dignity, a gross insult to one of his high standing. Remember that the General has been exhibited at the royal courts of London and Paris …’
‘Then mightn’t he use a set of steps?’
‘That would hardly do! The General is Mr Barnum’s most prized exhibit and personal friend. If all is not acceptable to him, it will be no less so to Mr Barnum himself.’
‘Then what shall I do?’
‘Get a bed made,’ said D’Orleans. ‘And while you’re about it, have the carpenter fashion a wash-stand and chair. And an escritoire, so he may attend to his correspondence.’
‘This is outrageous,’ said Merriweather.
‘And have any regular-sized furniture removed from his room.’
‘Is that everything?’ said Merriweather, weakly.
‘Yes. Excepting the matter of the Indians,’ said D’Orleans.
‘Indians?’ said Merriweather.
‘Just a few Cheyenne, some Apache and a bloodthirsty Kiowa called Yellow Bear who have consented to attach themselves to the circus. They’re perfect gentlemen and won’t give you any problems. So long as you don’t inflame them, of course.’
‘How?’
‘Well,’ said D’Orleans, winking at me, ‘Be sure you don’t put a Commanche in the same bed as an Apache, for one thing. Although I’m given to understand that a Kiowa with a Commanche might be quite safe.’
Merriweather’s eyes were too clouded with the visions of ghostly dollars to see what was afoot but it was now clear to me that Mr D’Orleans or Barnum as we supposed, was having a rare game at Merriweather’s expense. He and Wilkes were enjoying it mightily but no one relished the spectacle as much as myself. In fact, now I remembered how D’Orleans had looked when Merriweather had struck me, I fancied that it might even be for my benefit.
My enjoyment was short-lived. Merriweather invited his guests to take a glass of whisky with him in the saloon, no doubt intending to show them off to his other customers. Wilkes bent over the table and whispered in his ear. Merriweather, his head crooked in my direction, seemed to notice my presence for the first time and snapped, ‘Don’t stand there gawking, Billy. Ain’t you got no work to do?’
IV
I