"You old Shylock! Well, I haven't the cash, so I can't expect the five per cent, but I'll give you an order on my uncle. I suppose that'll satisfy you?"
"Oh yes! ze British officer vat you call pay opp. I vill feel quite safe."
"Very well. Heavens! how funny it is to hold a pencil again! There you are: 'Pay Herr Schwab on sight ten pounds (£10). Tom Burnaby'. That'll do, eh?"
"All correct, my young friend. And now, vat more can I do for you?"
"I hardly like to ask you, but would you mind--pray don't hesitate to say so--would you mind cutting my hair?"
"You hafe done me vell, Mr. Burnaby; I do not mind. I vill cut your hair, and sell you ze scissors."
"Fire away, then, and don't dig into my skin, will you?"
Schwab turned up his sleeves, tucked a long yellow scarf from his variety bundle round Tom's neck, and cropped him close, with no more than the usual stabs and pricks. Then Tom escorted him round his little domain, and gratified him with an order for various tools and implements. He remained overnight as Tom's guest, and started early in the morning northwards to visit the Arabs.
Before he left, Tom warned him that he might find the Arabs rather unpleasant customers. But Schwab puffed himself out and waved the warning away.
"Vat!" he said, "the Arabs vill not dare do anyzink to me, a Gairman! Our Kaiser, who is in Berlin--he vould know ze reason vy if vun hair of my head vas touched."