Louise KeatonI started a fuss when on board; anything to get thrown off. I even auctioned off Louise. I commenced the thing by saying:"Before the boat sails I am authorized to sell this orphan child. What am I offered?" The bids opened up well and I sold Louise to a bright looking little fellow for seventy-five cents. I demanded the money before I turned over the baby. The boy's father told his son that I was only fooling. That was the beginning of a scrap. But they wouldn't put me off the boat. Instead they told me if I tried to auction off any more babies, they would put me in irons.

Arriving at Paddington Station, London, I left that cage in the cars where they lock you up three hours from the time you land. Walter C. Kelly was there to meet the family (I never saw a handsomer looking fellow and a more welcome one than Walter). He said: "I say, old chap, get your folks in this taxi and you follow on behind with your luggage. Drive to 69 Blank Street." "All right," said I.

I had four fights before I could make eleven men understand I only needed one cab. Before the luggage was loaded, there were eight men handling it. So I had eight to tip. I had to hire another man to do the tipping. We got a hatful of pennies and shillings, paying off in full.

"Take me to Blank Street," I said to the cabbie. "Right, Guv'nor,"said the cabbie. Away we started. It was raining and the fog was so thick I thought we were going through a tunnel. "How far is it?" I asked my hired paymaster, who was along. "Four miles," he said. I noticed about fifteen men following, keeping right up with the cab and peering in the windows every now and then. I asked the cashier what those fellows were following us for. "We paid them once," I said. "Oh," said he; "they are cab runners." "You don't mean to say they will follow us all the way?" said I. "Absolutely," said the paying teller.

Pretty soon the clerk said: "Hey, Cabbie, boblomit, you are going in the wrong direction--69 Blank Street and hurry up." "Ol right, Guv'nor," said the driver as he turned around, spilling three of my trunks overboard. The old table went awhirling through the fog and mud. Talk about going through cab windows. We had to fight those cab runners and yelling police to get the trunks back. My head clerk could fight some, and between us we did it.


*Buster recalls that, although pursued by taxi touts, they
were kindly and patient in loading and unloading the trunks.