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Updated: June 6, 2025
Monsieur Poopoo pricked up his ears at this, and was lost in astonishment. This was a much easier way certainly of accumulating riches than selling toys in Chatham Street, and he determined to buy and mend his fortune without delay. The auctioneer proceeded in his sale. Other parcels were offered and disposed of, and all the purchasers were promised immense advantages for their enterprise.
"Only one hundred apiece for these sixty valuable lots only one hundred going going going gone!" Monsieur Poopoo was the fortunate possessor. The auctioneer congratulated him the sale closed and the company dispersed.
Well, then, there lived Monsieur Poopoo ever since he came from "dear, delightful Paris," as he was wont to call the city of his nativity there he took in the pennies for his kickshaws there he laid aside five thousand dollars against a rainy day there he was as happy as a lark and there, in all human probability, he would have been to this very day, a respected and substantial citizen, had he been willing to "let well alone."
He drew a box from his waistcoat pocket, opened it, with an emphatic knock upon the lid, took a pinch of snuff and restored it to his waistcoat pocket as before. Poopoo was evidently in trouble, having "thoughts which often lie too deep for tears"; and, as his grief was also too big for words, he untied his horse, jumped into his gig, and returned to the auctioneer in hot haste.
But Monsieur Poopoo had heard strange stories about the prodigious rise in real estate; and, having understood that most of his neighbors had become suddenly rich by speculating in lots, he instantly grew dissatisfied with his own lot, forthwith determined to shut up shop, turn everything into cash, and set about making money in right-down earnest.
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