“My little son,” said he, patting me on the shoulder.  “Stoutest man of his inches in the world.  We’ll be round here’s evenin’—­give a show.  C’mon, Jake!”

“Wot I said about growin’ up,” said he, as we went along the street, “is all took back, Jake!”

We had not gone more than a quarter of a mile when we came to a place where there was a stand for express wagons and drays; and Bill picked out from the crowd, with a good deal of difficulty, I thought, a hard-looking citizen to whom he introduced me as the stoutest man on the Erie Canal.  The drayman seemed to know me.  He said he had seen me wrestle.  When I asked him about the hunchback he said he knew right where he was; but there was no hurry, and tried to get up a wrestling match between me and a man twice my size who made a specialty of hauling salt, and bragged that he could take a barrel of it by the chimes, and lift it into his dray.  I told him that I was in a great hurry and begged to be let off; but while I was talking they had made up a purse of twenty-one shillings to be wrestled for by us two.  I finally persuaded the drayman to show me the hunchback’s tavern, and promised to come back and wrestle after I had found him; to which the stake-holder agreed, but all the rest refused to consent, and the money was given back to the subscribers.  The drayman, Bill and I went off together to find the tavern—­which we finally did.

It was a better tavern than we were used to, and I was a little bashful when I inquired if a man with a black beard was stopping there, and was told that there were several.

“What’s his name?” asked the clerk.

“’E’s a hunchback,” said Bill—­I had been too diffident to describe him so.

“Mr. Wisner, of Southport, Wisconsin,” said the clerk, “has a back that ain’t quite like the common run of backs.  Want to see him?”

He was in a nice room, with a fire burning and was writing at a desk which opened and shut, and was carried with him when he traveled.  He wore a broadcloth, swallow-tailed coat, a collar that came out at the sides of his neck and stood high under his ears; and his neck was covered with a black satin stock.  On the bed was a tall, black beaver, stove-pipe hat.  There were a great many papers on the table and the bed, and the room looked as if it had been used by crowds of people—­the floor was muddy about the fireplace, and there were tracks from the door to the cheap wooden chairs which seemed to have been brought in to accommodate more visitors than could sit on the horsehair chairs and sofa that appeared to belong in the room.  Mr. Wisner looked at us sharply as we came in, and shook hands first with Bill and then with me.

“Glad to see you again,” said he heartily.  “Glad to see you again!  I want to tell you some more about Wisconsin.  I haven’t told you the half of its advantages.”

I saw that he thought we had been there before, and was about to correct his mistake, when Bill told him that that’s what we had come for.