The Pigeon Express Man


In nearly all yarns or plays in which Yankees figure, they are supposed

to be "a leetle teu darn'd ceute" for almost any body else, creating a

heap of fun, and coming out clean ahead; but that even Connecticut

Yankees--the cutest and all firedest tight critters on the face of the

yearth, when money or trade's in the question--are "done" now and

then, upon the most scientific principles, we are going to prove.


/> It is generally known, in the newspaper world, that two or three Eastern

men, a few years ago, started a paper in Philadelphia, upon the penny

principle, and have since been rewarded as they deserved. They were, and

are, men of great enterprise and liberality, as far as their business is

concerned, and thereby they got ahead of all competition, and made their

pile. The proprietors were always "fly" for any new dodge, by which

they could keep the lead of things, and monopolize the news market.

The Telegraph had not "turned up" in the day of which we write--the

mails, and, now and then, express horse lines, were the media through

which Great Excitements! Alarming Events!! Great Fires and Awful

Calamities!! were come at. One morning, as one of these gentlemen was

sitting in his office, a long, lank genius, with a visage as

hatchet-faced and keen as any Connecticut Yankee's on record, came in,

and inquired of one of the clerks for the proprietors of that

institution. Being pointed out, the thin man made a lean towards him.

After getting close up, and twisting and screwing around his head to see

that nobody was listening or looking, the lean man sat down very

gingerly upon the extreme verge of a chair, and leaning forward until

his razor-made nose almost touched that of the publisher, in a low,

nasal, anxious tone, says he,



"Air yeou one of the publishers of this paper?"





"I am, sir."



"Oh, yeou, sir!" said the visitor, again looking suspiciously around and

about him.



"Did you ever hear tell of the Pigeon Express?" he continued.



"The Pigeon Express?" echoed the publisher.



"Ya-a-s. Carrier pigeons--letters to their l-e-g-s and newspapers under

their wings--trained to fly any where you warnt 'em."



"Carrier Pigeons," mused the publisher--"Carrier--pigeons trained to

carry billets--bulletins and--"



"Go frum fifty to a hundred miles an hour!" chimed in the stranger.



"True, so they say, very true," continued the publisher, musingly.



"Elegant things for gettin' or sendin' noos head of every body else."



"Precisely: that's a fact, that's a fact," the other responded, rising

from his chair and pacing the floor, as though rather and decidedly

taken by the novelty and feasibility of the operation.



"You'd have 'em all, Mister, dead as mutton, by a Pigeon Express."



"I like the idea; good, first rate!"



"Can't be beat, noheow!" said the stranger.



"But what would it cost?"



"Two hundred dollars, and a small wagon, to begin on."



"A small wagon?"



"Ya-a-s. Yeou see, Mister, the birds haff to be trained to fly from one

pint to another!"



"Yes; well?"



"Wa-a-ll, yeou see the birds are put in a box, on the top of the

bildin', for a spell, teu git the hang of things, and so on!"



"Yes, very well; go on."



"Then the birds are put in a cage, the trainer takes 'em into his

wagon--ten miles at first--throws 'em up, and the birds go to the

bildin'. Next day fifteen miles, and so forth; yeou see?"



"Perfectly; I understand; now, where can these birds be had?"



Putting his thin lips close to the publisher's opening ears, in a low,

long way, says the stranger--



"I've got 'em! R-a-l-e Persian birds--be-e-utis!"



"You understand training them?" says the anxious publisher.



"Like a book," the stranger responded.



"Where are the birds?" the publisher inquired.



"I've got 'em down to the tavern, where I'm stoppin'."



"Bring them up; let me see them; let me see them!"



"Certainly, Mister, of course," responded the Pigeon express man,

leaving the presence of the tickled-to-death publisher, who paced his

office as full of effervescence as a jimmyjohn of spruce beer in dog

days.



About this time pigeons were being trained, and in a few cases, now and

then, really did carry messages for lottery ticket venders in Jersey

City, to Philadelphia, Wilmington, and Baltimore; but these exploits

rarely paid first cost, and did not amount to much, although some noise

was made about the wonderful performance of certain Carrier Pigeons. But

the paper was to have a new impulse--astonish all creation and the

rest of mankind, by Pigeon Express. The publisher's partner was in New

York, fishing for novelties, and he determined to astonish him, on his

return home, by the bird business! A coop was fixed on the top of the

"bildin'," as the great inventor of the express had suggested. The

wagon was bought, and, with two hundred dollars in for funds, passed

over to the pigeon express man, who, in the course of a few days, takes

the birds into his wagon, to take them out some few miles, throw them

up, and the publisher and a confidential friend were to be on top of the

"bildin'," looking out for them.



They kept looking!--they saw something werry like a whale, but a good

deal like a first-rate bad "Sell!" The lapse of a few days was quite

sufficient to convince the publisher that he had been taken in and done

for--regularly picked up and done for,--upon the most approved and

scientific principles. Rather than let the cat out of the bag, he made

up his mind to pocket the shave and keep shady, not even "letting on

to his partner," who in the course of the following week returned from

Gotham, evidently feeling as fine as silk, about something or other.



"Well, what's new in New York--got hold of any thing rich?" was the

first interrogatory.



"Hi-i-i-sh! close the door!" was the reply, indicating something very

important on the tapis.



"So; my dear fellow, I've got a concern, now, that will put the

sixpennies to sleep as sound as rocks!"



"No. What have you started in Gotham?"



"Exactly. If you don't own up the corn, that the idea is

grand--immense--I'll knock under."



"Good! I'm glad--particularly glad you've found something new and

startling," responded the other. "Well, what is it?"



"Great!--wonderful!--Carrier Pigeons!"



"What! Pigeons?"



"Pigeons!"



"You don't pretend to say that--"



"Yes, sir, all arranged--luckiest fellows alive, we are--"



"Well, but--"



"Oh, don't be uneasy--I fixed it."



"Well, I'm hanged if this isn't rich!" muttered his partner, sticking

his digits into his trowserloons--biting his lips and stamping around.



"Rich! elegant! In two weeks we'll be flying our birds and--"



"Flying! Why, do you--"



"Ha! ha! I knew I'd astonish you; Tom insisted on my keeping perfectly

mum, until things were in regular working order; he then set the boys

to work--we have large cages on top of the building--"



"Come up on top of this building," said the partner, solemnly. "There,

do you see that bundle of laths and stuff?"



"Why--why, you don't pretend to say that--"



"I do exactly; a scamp came along here a week ago--talked nothing but

Carrier Pigeons--Pigeon Expresses--I thought I'd surprise you, and--"



"Well, well--go on."



"And by thunder I was green enough to give the fellow $200--a horse and

wagon--"



"Done! done!" roared the other, without waiting for further

particulars--"$200 and a horse and wagon--just what Tom and I gave the

scamp! ha! ha! ha!"



"Haw! haw! haw!" and the publishers roared under the force of the

joke.



Whatever became of the pigeon express man is not distinctly known; but

he is supposed to have given up the bird business, and gone into the

manufacture of woolly horses and cod-liver oil.

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