The Man with the Big Whiskers
It was on the evening of September 14th, 1800 and blank. Twilight had already set in, and the streetlamps were just being lighted, when a “solitary” cartman of about my size might have been seen winding his devious way up Sullivan Street on his way to his suburban home. When a little above Bleecker Street, a gentleman in Quaker garb, who was standing upon the sidewalk, beckoned him to haul up alongside the curbstone.
“Friend,” said he, “hast thee anything special on hand for the morrow?”
“Nothing, either special or in expectation.”
“Then I would like to engage thyself and another of thy profession for the day—that is, by the day, and for the whole day. Dost thou understand me?”… Read More