heads" (oh, what an alluring farce to the uninitiated!) But I had made up my mind, and I would listen to no further argument.
Alluring Prospects with a New Concern
Upon my return to Philadelphia, I reported for duty to my new employer. Here indeed it was hustle and bustle. The place was alive; everybody was busy. I could not help noting the marked difference between the two places. I was glad of the change. I was to remain in the house for a few weeks, and then go out on the road, as far as the Coast. Expenses and the need for economy were never mentioned. On the contrary, my new employer seemed to abhor the very idea of any representative of his stopping at a cheap hotel, or being burdened with a pack of luggage that any negro boy might carry as well.
A Short-Lived "Dream"
Was I through with my dilemma? Oh, no. I had been with the new concern only a few days when one morning my new employer informed me that mutual friends, influential business men of the city, had been stirring up his conscience a bit, insisting that he had committed a grave offense against the other man by taking away his salesman right in face of the busy season. They had worried him with warnings of the retribution which would overtake him if my old employer was ruined. So he told me that I had better go back to my first employer—"Your place here is always waiting for you," he said. "If you find that even as partner you haven't bettered yourself, come back of your own free-will—then at least I won't have it on my conscience."
Back to the Old Place
So I went back, becoming part proprietor, with my name on stationery and letter-heads. I lingered two years longer with my employer; and the longer I stayed the more irksome my situation became to me. I was young and ambitious, and eager to branch out. He could not see it in that light.
Panic of 1893
About 1893, the country was stricken with a panic, as everyone well remembers. My employer was panic-stricken on his own account, so much so that he was practically ready to close up his business. The first thing he did was to discharge two of his best basket and sheaf makers, retaining two young girls, at $3 per week each. Joe Neidinger, of the well-known concern (today) of Joseph Neidinger & Co., at that time a boy of twelve or thirteen, was in our employ in the capacity of errand-boy. Upon him also devolved the duty of trimming splint baskets and making sheaves. And although Joe did his full duty, giving ample promise at the time of what was in store for him, our facilities nevertheless can better be imagined than described. If a hurry-up order came, we could not well turn out the goods. Some staple articles were barred out altogether. I became both disgusted and discouraged with the situation, and regretted the fact that a "partnership" allured me to the extent of sacrificing a really better, though not so high-sounding, position. Things were going from bad to worse. Men were tramping through the streets, looking for positions. There were no positions in sight. My pride restrained me from applying to our competitor. Something, however, had to be done, and that before long. But things shaped themselves of their own accord. A few months later, my partner informed me that he was determined to close up the business. He was a single man; hence family obligations had no terrors for him.
