HOW TO LIVE ON NOTHING A DAY.

Lake Wakatip Mail, Issue 2170, 20 August 1897, Page 4

HOW TO LIVE ON NOTHING A DAY.

A TALK WITH A MAN WHO HAS LIVED BY HIS WITS.

The old problem was how to live on sixpence a day. But Mr Frank Burton, who set out from New York in January of last year to make a tour round the world, began the journey virtually without clothes or money. " The Hustler," for that is his sobriquet, has recently been in London, and a "Westminster" representative came across him the other night in a new American corner. At first sight you would have taken the traveller for a servant of all men, and have requested him to bring you the well-known New World pick-me-up, a draught of golden fiz. He was dressed as a waiter, minus studs in the front of his white shirt, and was sitting down elbowing his cycle when the inquisitor first addressed him.

"That's correct. lam the man. My story in brief? It's simply told. Met; made bet; stake SIO,OOO (looking at his fingers), equal to £2OOO English money. Conditions: Round the world without begging, buying, borrowing, or stealing, or parting with a coin, and to bring back with me a pile of SIOOO. Time, eighteen months; day of departure, Bth January, 1896; place, a room in NewYork adjoining the Mayor's office. Conditions : Naked, except a paper suit of clothes. The room was dark. I was locked in and told to get out how best I could. Once in the street found the weather tickled me—temperature, S below zero. Looked about; obtained a job to sit in a store window all afternoon; payment a suit of warm clothing. Later met a well-known character, Steve Brodie. He gave me my first ticket out of town. Left New York and reached Albany the same night. Got put up free of charge. Explained matters to a friend. He said, ' Black my boots.' 'Certainly.' 'l'll give you $25 and the modus operandi.' These $25 were my first earnings. Proceeded on journey. Turned actor and earnt another $25. Got along to Buffalo, then to Pittsburg, living rree of charge—a condition I have told you is that I must not spend a single penny—on people in J sympathy with my tramp abroad. Yes, it is no uncommon thing for me to do—- | sleep out o' nights, only my great-coat !as a blanket and the blue sky as a | counterpane. Certainly a police staj tion has more than once been my bedchamber, and I have passed a night in a coffin. I wanted to get away by the Southern Pacific Rail. But in the matter of free passes that company is not noble. A farce-comedy company came to play at Ogden one night and chimed in. The stage carpenter made me a box like a coffin. It locked from the inside. They packed in with me a couple of cold chickens, some bottles of beer, and cigars, and I got through with the baggage to 'Frisco a journey of thirty-six hours—in the end, the coffin and myself being addressed to West's minstrels. You guess there was a little surprise when I lifted the lid and crawled out. Worked my passage down to Sydney as a storeman. Yes, the Australians love you well if they love you at all. Called first at Sydney and Melbourne, then visited Adelaide, Brisbane, Newcastle. Tf I had been nine persons instead of a single individual I could not have consumed all people's kindness. Left the land of the kangaroo as purser on board the China Navigation Company's s.s. Guthrie. Put up at Hong Kong for a week. The Celestian Chinee is not the most liberal being in creation, but I left the land a richer man than when I arrived. From Hong Kong to Kobe, from Kobe to Yokohama—by the bye, Kobe is the wettest place I was ever in, the rain poured down the five days I was there. From Yokohama to Nakasaki on to Shanghai, and then through the interior. Back to Hong Kong, then on to Calcutta, touching Singapore and Penang. At Calcutta joined a circus company. The first night a man broke my graphophone. Took up with Peter Jackson, the boxing kangaroo ; my partner used the gloves, I did the talking. But alas ! Peter Jackson died. And that was not fne only misadventure. Up to this point I had been laid aside in hospital with fever for eleven weeks. India, too, was the graveyard of the Monarch cycle that had been given me in Chicago. That horseless horse had been so far round with me, record 12,642 miles, when I met with a fall. I closed with the circus at Rangoon. Obtained berth on board the s.s. Frome as pantryman, and reached Liverpool alive. Liverpool people looked after me. I was given a new Elvakata cycle. From Liverpool fifty cyclists escorted me to Warrington. Got to Manchester on Tuesday, stayed till Wednesday. Went on to Buxton; then to Nottingham, and from there to Birmingham. Made a detour of Coventry, reached this metropolis on Monday. Am off to Paris on Wednesday, then on to Berlin, then home possibly by way of London to New York. lam due in that city on Bth July. "Of all men the Australians are the princes of generosity, "the Heathen Chinee the meanest. The best roads to travel along are the English—they are the acme of perfection. That's tough reckoning! "Jack of all trades and—well, I confess I have been fireman, coal carter, steward, purser, waiter, boots, paper - boy, cab-driver, cyclist, upholsterer. and I have dabbled in 'the Fourth Estate.' From time to time I have .turned editor, issued a little journal, the 'Hustler,' set up and printed free of charge. Here is a copy published in Rangoon. Naturally I make a profit. You don't see the price ! No, like the weather, it's variable. It's governed, as you say, by the generosity of the acceptor. My palm is open. I can receive, but it is a breach of contract to sell.

"Curios ? Yes, I have a cargo. 'All sorts and conditions of presents. Barnum pieces, some. There were three trunks full. But one lies at the bottom of the sea. I lost No. 1 when shipwrecked off the bar at Rangoon. Really, I can't provide you with a list of contents. Items range from choice embroideries to shoe laces and shirt buttons, dinner menus, and I don't know what odd-come-shorts.

"It has really come to that—my wardrobe is as varied as the weather. Well, as a kind of summary, I can get along now without the help of the laundry for thirty - five days. I have seven suits of clothes, four dozen shirts, six dozen collars. Haw have I pulled through? Mostly I have been passed along by a chain of letters of introduction. Certainly, when 'took' in, the hospitality has to be complete, whether in trade or otherwise--'bed, board, washing, and shaving all have to be included. Without being an adept in languages, how did I get along? Pigeon-English is spoken all round the globe,and though in many places I only had at the tip of my tongue such words as AmericanEnglishman, bread, water, bed, the difficulty was never a deadlock. The natives invariably brought me to a white man. In India the planters wore most hospitable, and your Tommy Atkins never failed being big-hearted—we were the best of chums; and the cyclists all along have turned out brothers in arms. Oh, the English country ? Well, as far as I have seen, it is pretty sylvan—difficult to beat. No; maps are at a pre-

mium in the wilds abroad. You use your resources to get along. Yes—ten hours a day is enough on a cycle when it's businees and not pleasure. My age? On the border of twenty-nine. What am I going to do? Settle down if I win. Put my card in your pocket, and I will let you know the result."—"Westminster Budget."