“I am sorry you won’t let me in on your secrets,” said Dave. “I want to help you. Won’t you hire me as a clerk?”
“How much do you want a week?” demanded the wild man, in a business-like tone.
“How much will you give?”
“To a good clerk forty dollars.”
“Then I’ll take the job.”
“Very good. Your name is Crusoe, isn’t it—Robinson Crusoe?”
“You’ve got it.”
“If I give you the job, you must have your hair shaved off,” continued the wild man, looking at Dave’s hair critically.
“All right, I’ll have that done when we reach a barber shop.”
“It isn’t necessary to wait!” cried Wilbur Poole. “I am a barber.”