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Page 42
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 forthcoming.
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