An excerpt from the beginning of:CHAPTER I.“When do you start, Tom?”“At midnight.”“Well, good-by; sock it to 'em; send us in some fat orders.”“I'll do it, or die; good-by.”And then I sat down to think it all over. Our traveling man was off on a wedding tour, and I had agreed to take his place for this one trip. As the hour drew near for me to start, my courage proportionately sank, until I now heartily wished that I had never consented to go. What if I failed? I had been stock clerk and house salesman for three years; I had been successful; my position was a good one, and one that would grow better; there was nothing to be made by success on the road, as I had no intention of continuing there, and failure might be the means of making my place in the house less secure. What an infernal fool I was! If there had been any way under heaven for me to get out of it I would have hailed the opening with delight. I would have blessed any accident that would have been the means of sending me to bed for a week or two, and I would have taken the small-pox thankfully. But there was no release. Like an ass, as I was, I had agreed to take Mallon's trip, and I must go ahead if it made or unmade me.I ate my supper with a heavy heart, bade my landlady and her daughters a solemn good-by, then went to the theater to forget my sorrows. At midnight I was checking my sample-trunk for Albany, and persuading the baggage master that 218 pounds were exactly 120. I succeeded; but it took three ten-cent cigars to do it.The reason I call the town Albany is because that is not its name, and I may as well say here that as I write about actual incidents I don't propose to “lay myself liable” by giving the name of any town or any dealer. If I call him Smith it will naturally follow that he was not Smith.If Albany had been a hundred or more miles away I would have taken a berth in the sleeper, but we were due there at 2 o'clock, so I dozed and nodded and swore to myself during the two hours' ride. I wanted to get there, but I dreaded it, too. Stories I had heard traveling men tell about poor beds, mean men, dirty food, and unprincipled competitors all came back to me in a distorted fashion, and if I didn't have a nightmare I must have experienced a slight touch of delirium tremens.“How much of a town is Albany?” I asked the conductor.“No town at all; just a crossing.”“No hotel there?”“Oh, yes; they call it a hotel.”This was exactly what I expected. Probably no one would be up and I could walk around the town for the next four hours. What an idiot I was! By thunder, I would break my leg or my arm the first thing I did and get out of this foolish—“Albany!”What, so soon! Those were the two shortest hours I had ever known.No lights anywhere; no one about; nothing but—“Hotel, sir?”Good; here was a ray of comfort. “Hotel? Well, I should say so. Where is your light?”“Here it is.” And a lantern came around a corner as the train dashed off on its way.“Don't mind your trunk; that will be taken care of and I'll get it in the morning. Here, Dan, lead the way,”We walked a square or two and went into a neat appearing office. Bed? Yes, I might as well get a few hours' sleep. And I was given a very comfortable room. I lay in bed trying to recall our customer's name, and preparing my speech of introduction when—. Some one was rapping at the door. What's up? Breakfast! What, breakfast already? Why, I hadn't thought I was asleep at all.As I looked over the register, after breakfast, dreading to start out, I asked the clerk;“Been any gun men here lately?”“None since last week. Layton was here from Pittsburg on the 22d.”“Did he sell anything?”“I think he did sell Cutter a small bill”“How many stores are there here?”“Three that sell guns. Are you in the gun business!”“Yes. I am from Pittsburg.”I hung back as long as I dared; found out all about the trains; picked up facts and fancies about the merchants; got my cards and price-book handy; stuck four revolvers (samples) in my pockets; pulled my hat down solidly on my head, and started out. And every step I took I, figuratively, kicked myself for being there, and for being a blasted fool generally. “JOHN O. JORDAN, GUNS AND REVOLVERS.”This was the legend that attracted my attention, and toward it I took my way. I stopped at the window long enough to take a hasty inventory...