What was it worth to keep out of the electric chair? That is the way I figured it; it wasn't so much a question of letters and mere poetry and hair.
"That's an awful price," said I, "an awful price."
"Well, let me take them around to Tescheron. My price to him will be three thousand dollars, and I know from the prices Smith is getting that he'll pay. Glad to see you improving. Anything in my line, Mr. Hopkins, would be pleased to hear from you; old established house—"
"Sit down! Sit down, Obreeon! I'll split the difference with you and let you have my check." I touched a button and requested that my new handbag containing my checkbook and fountain pen be brought. Thank goodness, my bank account had not burned and my reputation might yet be saved.
"No, Mr. Hopkins, I am favoring you, really I am, in this matter, you know, and I could not—I could not cut that price."
What was the use? It almost cleaned me out, but I never hankered after money if it meant publicity. You may say it was only a fad or fancy of mine. I drew my check for $1,000 of hard-earned cash, slowly gathered by years of saving out of a small salary, and gave it to him, making sure I had the goods and extra fittings.
Mr. Obreeon started for home with warm feet and a remarkably steady gait.
Well, I never thought any letters of mine would bring that sum in the open market, and as for Jim's hair, I had known him to pay a quarter to have a lot of it cut off and thrown away.
I did a little figuring with my pen after Obreeon left. Taking the hairs and letters combined, they cost me an average price of $5.55. I worked it out this way: