Poe, Edgar Allen - The Complete Works of Edgar Allen Poe
Page 125
the door. She finds a sofa well adapted to her views, and upon
inquiring the price, is surprised and delighted to hear a sum named
at least twenty per cent. lower than her expectations. She hastens to
make the purchase, gets a bill and receipt, leaves her address, with
a request that the article be sent home as speedily as possible, and
retires amid a profusion of bows from the shopkeeper. The night
arrives and no sofa. A servant is sent to make inquiry about the
delay. The whole transaction is denied. No sofa has been sold -- no
money received -- except by the diddler, who played shop-keeper for
the nonce.
Our cabinet warehouses are left entirely unattended, and thus afford
every facility for a trick of this kind. Visiters enter, look at
furniture, and depart unheeded and unseen. Should any one wish to
purchase, or to inquire the price of an article, a bell is at hand,
and this is considered amply sufficient.
Again, quite a respectable diddle is this. A well-dressed individual
enters a shop, makes a purchase to the value of a dollar; finds, much
to his vexation, that he has left his pocket-book in another coat
pocket; and so says to the shopkeeper-
"My dear sir, never mind; just oblige me, will you, by sending the
bundle home? But stay! I really believe that I have nothing less than
a five dollar bill, even there. However, you can send four dollars in
change with the bundle, you know."
"Very good, sir," replies the shop-keeper, who entertains, at once, a
lofty opinion of the high-mindedness of his customer. "I know
fellows," he says to himself, "who would just have put the goods
under their arm, and walked off with a promise to call and pay the
dollar as they came by in the afternoon."
A boy is sent with the parcel and change. On the route, quite
accidentally, he is met by the purchaser, who exclaims:
"Ah! This is my bundle, I see -- I thought you had been home with it,
long ago. Well, go on! My wife, Mrs. Trotter, will give you the five
dollars -- I left instructions with her to that effect. The change
you might as well give to me -- I shall want some silver for the Post
Office. Very good! One, two, is this a good quarter?- three, four --
quite right! Say to Mrs. Trotter that you met me, and be sure now and
do not loiter on the way."
The boy doesn't loiter at all -- but he is a very long time in
getting back from his errand -- for no lady of the precise name of
Mrs. Trotter is to be discovered. He consoles himself, however, that
he has not been such a fool as to leave the goods without the money,
and re-entering his shop with a self-satisfied air, feels sensibly
hurt and indignant when his master asks him what has become of the
change.
A very simple diddle, indeed, is this. The captain of a ship, which
is about to sail, is presented by an official looking person with an
unusually moderate bill of city charges. Glad to get off so easily,
and confused by a hundred duties pressing upon him all at once, he
discharges the claim forthwith. In about fifteen minutes, another and
less reasonable bill is handed him by one who soon makes it evident
that the first collector was a diddler, and the original collection a
diddle.
And here, too, is a somewhat similar thing. A steamboat is casting
loose from the wharf. A traveller, portmanteau in hand, is discovered
running toward the wharf, at full speed. Suddenly, he makes a dead
halt, stoops, and picks up something from the ground in a very
agitated manner. It is a pocket-book, and -- "Has any gentleman lost
a pocketbook?" he cries. No one can say that he has exactly lost a
pocket-book; but a great excitement ensues, when the treasure trove
is found to be of value. The boat, however, must not be detained.
"Time and tide wait for no man," says the captain.
"For God's sake, stay only a few minutes," says the finder of the
book -- "the true claimant will presently appear."
"Can't wait!" replies the man in authority; "cast off there, d'ye
hear?"
"What am I to do?" asks the finder, in great tribulation. "I am about
to leave the country for some years, and I cannot conscientiously
retain this large amount in my possession. I beg your pardon, sir,"
[here he addresses a gentleman on shore,] "but you have the air of an
honest man. Will you confer upon me the favor of taking charge of
this pocket-book -- I know I can trust you -- and of advertising it?
The notes, you see, amount to a very considerable sum. The owner
will, no doubt, insist upon rewarding you for your trouble-
"Me! -- no, you! -- it was you who found the book."
"Well, if you must have it so -- I will take a small reward -- just
to satisfy your scruples. Let me see -- why these notes are all
hundreds- bless my soul! a hundred is too much to take -- fifty would
be quite enough, I am sure-
"Cast off there!" says the captain.
"But then I have no change for a hundred, and upon the whole, you had
better-
"Cast off there!" says the captain.
"Never mind!" cries the gentleman on shore, who has been examining
his own pocket-book for the last minute or so -- "never mind! I can
fix it -- here is a fifty on the Bank of North America -- throw the
book."
And the over-conscientious finder takes the fifty with marked
reluctance, and throws the gentleman the book, as desired, while the
steamboat fumes and fizzes on her way. In about half an hour after
her departure, the "large amount" is seen to be a "counterfeit
presentment," and the whole thing a capital diddle.
A bold diddle is this. A camp-meeting, or something similar, is to be
held at a certain spot which is accessible only by means of a free
bridge. A diddler stations himself upon this bridge, respectfully
informs all passers by of the new county law, which establishes a
toll of one cent for foot passengers, two for horses and donkeys, and
so forth, and so forth. Some grumble but all submit, and the diddler
goes home a wealthier man by some fifty or sixty dollars well earned.
This taking a toll from a great crowd of people is an excessively
troublesome thing.
A neat diddle is this. A friend holds one of the diddler's promises
to pay, filled up and signed in due form, upon the ordinary blanks
printed in red ink. The diddler purchases one or two dozen of these
blanks, and every day dips one of them in his soup, makes his dog
jump for it, and finally gives it to him as a bonne bouche. The note
arriving at maturity, the diddler, with the diddler's dog, calls upon
the friend, and the promise to pay is made the topic of discussion.
The friend produces it from his escritoire, and is in the act of
reaching it to the diddler, when up jumps the diddler's dog and
devours it forthwith. The diddler is not only surprised but vexed and
incensed at the absurd behavior of his dog, and expresses his entire
readiness to cancel the obligation at any moment when the evidence of
the obligation shall be forthcomin
g.
A very mean diddle is this. A lady is insulted in the street by a
diddler's accomplice. The diddler himself flies to her assistance,
and, giving his friend a comfortable thrashing, insists upon
attending the lady to her own door. He bows, with his hand upon his
heart, and most respectfully bids her adieu. She entreats him, as her
deliverer, to walk in and be introduced to her big brother and her
papa. With a sigh, he declines to do so. "Is there no way, then,
sir," she murmurs, "in which I may be permitted to testify my
gratitude?"
"Why, yes, madam, there is. Will you be kind enough to lend me a
couple of shillings?"
In the first excitement of the moment the lady decides upon fainting
outright. Upon second thought, however, she opens her purse-strings
and delivers the specie. Now this, I say, is a diddle minute -- for
one entire moiety of the sum borrowed has to be paid to the gentleman
who had the trouble of performing the insult, and who had then to
stand still and be thrashed for performing it.
Rather a small but still a scientific diddle is this. The diddler
approaches the bar of a tavern, and demands a couple of twists of
tobacco. These are handed to him, when, having slightly examined
them, he says:
"I don't much like this tobacco. Here, take it back, and give me a
glass of brandy and water in its place." The brandy and water is
furnished and imbibed, and the diddler makes his way to the door. But
the voice of the tavern-keeper arrests him.
"I believe, sir, you have forgotten to pay for your brandy and
water."
"Pay for my brandy and water! -- didn't I give you the tobacco for
the brandy and water? What more would you have?"
"But, sir, if you please, I don't remember that you paid me for the
tobacco."
"What do you mean by that, you scoundrel? -- Didn't I give you back
your tobacco? Isn't that your tobacco lying there? Do you expect me
to pay for what I did not take?"
"But, sir," says the publican, now rather at a loss what to say, "but
sir-"
"But me no buts, sir," interrupts the diddler, apparently in very
high dudgeon, and slamming the door after him, as he makes his
escape. -- "But me no buts, sir, and none of your tricks upon
travellers."
Here again is a very clever diddle, of which the simplicity is not
its least recommendation. A purse, or pocket-book, being really lost,
the loser inserts in one of the daily papers of a large city a fully
descriptive advertisement.
Whereupon our diddler copies the facts of this advertisement, with a
change of heading, of general phraseology and address. The original,
for instance, is long, and verbose, is headed "A Pocket-Book Lost!"
and requires the treasure, when found, to be left at No. 1 Tom
Street. The copy is brief, and being headed with "Lost" only,
indicates No. 2 Dick, or No. 3 Harry Street, as the locality at which
the owner may be seen. Moreover, it is inserted in at least five or
six of the daily papers of the day, while in point of time, it makes
its appearance only a few hours after the original. Should it be read
by the loser of the purse, he would hardly suspect it to have any
reference to his own misfortune. But, of course, the chances are five
or six to one, that the finder will repair to the address given by
the diddler, rather than to that pointed out by the rightful
proprietor. The former pays the reward, pockets the treasure and
decamps.
Quite an analogous diddle is this. A lady of ton has dropped, some
where in the street, a diamond ring of very unusual value. For its
recovery, she offers some forty or fifty dollars reward -- giving, in
her advertisement, a very minute description of the gem, and of its
settings, and declaring that, on its restoration at No. so and so, in
such and such Avenue, the reward would be paid instanter, without a
single question being asked. During the lady's absence from home, a
day or two afterwards, a ring is heard at the door of No. so and so,
in such and such Avenue; a servant appears; the lady of the house is
asked for and is declared to be out, at which astounding information,
the visitor expresses the most poignant regret. His business is of
importance and concerns the lady herself. In fact, he had the good
fortune to find her diamond ring. But perhaps it would be as well
that he should call again. "By no means!" says the servant; and "By
no means!" says the lady's sister and the lady's sister-in-law, who
are summoned forthwith. The ring is clamorously identified, the
reward is paid, and the finder nearly thrust out of doors. The lady
returns and expresses some little dissatisfaction with her sister and
sister-in-law, because they happen to have paid forty or fifty
dollars for a fac-simile of her diamond ring -- a fac-simile made out
of real pinch-beck and unquestionable paste.
But as there is really no end to diddling, so there would be none to
this essay, were I even to hint at half the variations, or
inflections, of which this science is susceptible. I must bring this
paper, perforce, to a conclusion, and this I cannot do better than by
a summary notice of a very decent, but rather elaborate diddle, of
which our own city was made the theatre, not very long ago, and which
was subsequently repeated with success, in other still more verdant
localities of the Union. A middle-aged gentleman arrives in town from
parts unknown. He is remarkably precise, cautious, staid, and
deliberate in his demeanor. His dress is scrupulously neat, but
plain, unostentatious. He wears a white cravat, an ample waistcoat,
made with an eye to comfort alone; thick-soled cosy-looking shoes,
and pantaloons without straps. He has the whole air, in fact, of your
well-to-do, sober-sided, exact, and respectable "man of business,"
Par excellence -- one of the stern and outwardly hard, internally
soft, sort of people that we see in the crack high comedies --
fellows whose words are so many bonds, and who are noted for giving
away guineas, in charity, with the one hand, while, in the way of
mere bargain, they exact the uttermost fraction of a farthing with