Page:The Tales of a Traveller.djvu/71

Rh Harry Balsley of Red Pot Fame Of those still in the harness, the dean of all, perhaps, is the whole-souled Harry Balsley of the red pot fame. Who has not heard of Harry Balsley? For upward of forty years on the road, he has made a host of friends wherever green-houses are in existence and pots are used. From coast to coast, and from the Gulf to the Great Lakes, the name of Harry Balsley has become almost a household word with every grower. At one time, a Chrysanthemum was named after this popular man, which was grown quite successfully for years after its introduction. Harry Balsley has the happy faculty of telling a story and telling it well. What is additionally in his favor is his ability to gauge the fitness of the moment for telling it. His age, though he is by no means what one would call an old man, does not in the least impede the progress of his work, for Harry Balsley can still put in a hard day's work and accomplish results as he did a quarter of a century and more ago. It is always a source of great pleasure to me to meet him on the road and to spend an hour of delightful chatting with him. His vast experience and his knowledge of men and things in general are enough to equip him for the lecture platform. But Harry prefers his honorable though more humble vocation of selling pots. May his shadow never grow less.

Joseph Roelker, Another Old-Timer Another old-timer, though I seldom met him and had few conversations with him, is Joseph Roelker of New York City. Joseph Roelker, though in appearance still a young man, has traveled for almost two generations. Mr. Roelker has always kept more or less aloof from other traveling men, and though they have not become very well acquainted with him, he has always commanded their respect.

The Optimist, Phil Foley The name of Phil Foley needs no introduction, for Phil has an extensive acquaintance and is beloved by all his friends. His popularity is only equaled by his "avoirdupois." Phil is a heavyweight, tipping the scale at three hundred and fifty or thereabouts. His heart is as big as his body, and his wit is fully commensurate with both. I met Mr. Foley only in recent years, and although our business interests are diverse and we are in nowise of pecuniary advantage to each other, my friendship for him has been strengthened from time to time and my admiration for his good humor, wit, and optimistic outlook in life has grown with each meeting. Mr. Foley's influence is decidedly of a wholesome nature. He never pesters you with tales of business troubles and worries. On the contrary, he will tell you that the world looks mighty bright and cheerful to him, and that every man has a place in it.

Recently, Mr. Foley and I traveled together from Detroit to Cleveland. When the conductor came around for the tickets, I presented mine, and when Mr. Foley's turn came to surrender his paste-board, he informed the official that one ticket would suffice for both, since he was but a baby.

"A baby!" exclaimed the conductor, surveying the three hundred and fifty pounds of man in front of him. "Why you ought to pay a double fare, considering you take up a whole seat yourself!"

As evening came on, we went into the wash-room of the train, preparatory to going into the diner for our supper. The room was crowded with traveling men, who were swapping stories at a lively rate. Mr. Foley was in his element. He stepped into the midst of them, and in a few moments he held the stage, telling one good one after another with lightning rapidity. Supper was forgotten. I finally had to pull him by force toward the diner. When we reached there, we found that supper was not quite ready.