The mayor's appearance prevented them from continuing the discussion.
"It's been a great honor, gents," he said. "Ain't often I have visitors, and I like the best, like you two gents."
As if on cue, Genius came out and put the check down between Joe and Harvey. Harvey picked it up negligently, but his casual air vanished in a yelp of horror.
"What the devil is this?" he shouted.—"How do you arrive at this fantastic, idiotic figure—three hundred and twenty-eight buckos!"
Johnson didn't answer. Neither did Genius; he simply put on the table, not a fingerbowl, but a magnifying glass. With one of his thirty fingers he pointed politely to the bottom of the menu.
Harvey focused on the microscopic print, and his face went pasty with rage. The minute note read: "Services and entertainment, 327 buckos 80 redsents."
"You can go to hell!" Joe growled. "We won't pay it!"
Johnson sighed ponderously. "I was afraid you'd act like that," he said with regret. He pulled a tin badge out of his rear pocket, pinned it on his vest, and twisted his holstered gun into view. "Afraid I'll have to ask the sheriff to take over."
Johnson, the "sheriff," collected the money, and Johnson, the "restaurateur," pocketed it. Meanwhile, Harvey tipped Joe the sign to remain calm.