Amy Likins must have gotten used to dealing with drunks and mashers. In San Jose she had this encounter–

While working there, I met on the street one day a widower; he was a Missourian, a fair specimen of southern chivalry, with light hair and blue eyes, which spoke volumes of love as they looked into mine. Using all the persuasive powers he possessed, which were not many, for me to accompany him to his ranch, a few miles from San Jose, he told me he knew I would make a good stepmother, for I was the mildest and pleasantest old maid he had ever met, and would give me a good home, so I would not have to go around the streets, peddling books for a living. While he was making this long, heart-smashing speech, I stood all attention, now and then smiling, which seemed to give him courage, for he was awfully bashful; I could not tell whether he blushed or not, for when I first met him his face was so red from the effects of the tangle-log whisky he had drank.

I told him my husband might object to his proposition. At this he seemed very much surprised, and said, “Why, are you married?” I told him I had been for seventeen years, to which he replied, ” darn them fellows, they said you were an old maid, and on the marry.” I told him he had better return to his jolly friends, and acknowledge himself sold; probably they would treat him, for after such a long love-making harangue, he must certainly be dry; bidding him good day, I continued my work.

I must say, I admire Amy’s dexterity in dealing with these men. But she was equally cool when dealing with insults from women. Here she is in Gilroy, meeting two Southern women in the hotel parlor. The younger woman was hoping to get a position as a schoolteacher, and the elder woman was her mother.

She tried to find out my business in Gilroy, but I did not give her any satisfaction. She would look at me sharply when I avoided her questions, and finally turned to her daughter, saying, “Sal, that poor critter is to be pitied, for she is mighty deaf, and not got much larning no how.”

She then crossed the room to the table, where I had laid my engravings, picked up the sample copy, took it close to the window, and put it to her eyes, as though she thought it was an opera glass, unrolled it, saying, “Humph! picture, hey?” came to where I was
sitting, held it up before me, screamed in my ear, until it made me jump, ” Peddling, I reckon.” I looked at her in amazement, but made no reply.

She returned to the window, saying, ” That’s mighty queer how she peddles; Sal, what’s that thare reading ?” Sal took the engraving, looked at the name on the bottom, spelled it over two or three times, and finally drawled out, “Why, it’s old Grant and family, the
darned old thief.” I thought to myself, you would make a splendid school-marm.

The old lady stormed and capered around the room in such a manner, that 1 thought it time to interfere, for I was afraid she would tear the sample copy to pieces. She, at first, refused to give it to me, saying she ” would burn the darned thing up.” I told her it was not mine, that I was taking orders for Bancroft and Company; also, told her I, too, was a Southern woman [Amy had been born in Kentucky], in reduced circumstances, and had to work for, a living. She replied, “No, you ain’t, you’re a darned Yank, an impostor. There ware a heap on you going round in the Southern States, before the war, ‘tending to peddle, all the time stealing [slaves].” She came close to me again, shaking her head, ” I know you ain’t much, else you wouldn’t played deaf.”

Amy wanted to stay in the parlor, by the warm fire, but “I could not endure her abuse, so I gathered up my traps and started for my room, laughing at her as I went, which seemed to enrage her still more.” Her sense of humor served her well.