When I think of the time when we painted the interior of the house for one Mr. Farnsworth, our employer, I certainly smile out loud. We painted everything except the paper on the wall, and we would have done that had there been any to paint. And when Mr. Farnsworth, assuming the rôle of an art critic, said, "That's a very poor job, boys," Anderson replied, "Well, you can't expect a Raphael for twelve dollars a week." This, like our other jobs, did not last long, for two hours afterward Farnsworth learned of the fight I had had with Mrs. Williams' cook, an Irish lady of some two hundred pounds, and he promptly fired us. When he turned us off we each had about five dollars coming to us so we lit out for our old haunts over on Halstead street, where we knew that board would be cheap at five "per." By this time we were both getting pretty tired of the city proper and wanted to get out on the big ranch lands of the Northwest, where we could work and probably save a little money. I finally hatched up a scheme by which we were able to make enough of the "elusive" to pay our way into the wild and wooly West. It was on a Saturday night that we put into practice this well grounded scheme of mine. Away back in my knickerbocker days I had had some experience as a patent medicine peddler, so it dawned on me that we would be able to make a few dollars by selling patent medicines. Saturday afternoon I rented from my friend Ikey a long black coat, a tall silk hat, a big imitation diamond, and a few other little necessary articles to give me the appearance of a typical patent medicine doctor. At the Drug Store around the corner from where we lived I purchased a dime's worth of new stoppers, a piece of red sealing wax, a couple of bottles of vanilla, and one small bottle of myrrh. These articles safely stored in my room, I put Anderson to work making the wonderful preparation, while I went out to purchase a basketful of bottles from the second hand bottle dealer. Returning to the room with the bottles, about one hundred in all, I found that Will had the mixtures prepared and then we set ourselves to work filling the bottles. After all the bottles had been filled we placed a new stopper in each one, then sealed it artistically with the highly colored wax. Saturday night is a joyful one for the laboring people of that section of Chicago, so by eight o'clock we had our drygoods box placed on the corner of Halstead and Van Buren streets, I think, where there are hundreds of people passing all the time. A big torch was burning, and there I stood on top of the box all decked out in my "rentals," making the greatest speech of my life to the people who crowded around. I ended by saying, "Now, ladies and gentlemen, is the time, for there are only a few bottles of this wonderful compound left." [Illustration: "A big Torch was Burning, and there I Stood on Top of the Box all Decked out in my Rentals." (_Wanderlust._)]