"I'll leave it with you," was my reply.
"I'll trade even."
"All right, sir; it's a bargain. Come and get the horse, and give me the keys."
So saying, I dismounted and took possession. After mounting the animal, he said he'd take it to the barn, and return in a few moments and continue to run the shop for me till I could hire another barber. He then left me in charge. No sooner had he done so than a well-dressed stranger came rushing into the shop, threw off his hat and coat, took a seat in the chair, and said:
"Please hurry up, Mr. Barber, as I want to catch the next train for the city."
Expecting the barber to return at once, I thought it a good idea to try and hold my first customer till he should arrive. I therefore threw off my hat and coat, grabbed the mug, made a lot of lather, and began daubing it on as thick as possible all over his face. I then wiped it off, and lathered him again, expecting the barber in every minute to take the job off my hands.
As he did not come, I was obliged to resort to the towel the second time, and lather him once more. Then stepping to the door to see if the barber was visible, and discovering that he was not I returned to my customer, and wiping off his face began lathering him again. I now saw that he was getting nervous and anxious, and concluded to try and entertain him with some sort of a "ghost story." Just as I was trying to conjure up something to "spring on him" he remarked that I wasn't very sparing of my soap.
"No, sir. I am not stingy with soap; and by the way, this soap is different from any you ever saw before. This, sir, is the homa-jona, radical, tragical, incomprehensible compound extract of the double-distilled rute-te-tute shaving soap."
I then went on with my auction talk on soap already familiar to the reader, and spun it out to him as rapidly as I could, without a pause, or the least hesitation.