“I wish I could communicate with them and order them north, but that is impossible. A detective only visits a telegraph office to send his report; then he is off again, and you don't know where to put your hand on him.”
Now came this despatch:
BRIDGEPORT, CT., 12.15.
Barnum offers rate of $4,000 a year for exclusive privilege of using
elephant as traveling advertising medium from now till detectives
find him. Wants to paste circus-posters on him. Desires immediate
answer.
BOGGS, Detective.
“That is perfectly absurd!” I exclaimed.
“Of course it is,” said the inspector. “Evidently Mr. Barnum, who thinks he is so sharp, does not know me—but I know him.”
Then he dictated this answer to the despatch:
Mr. Barnum's offer declined. Make it $7,000 or nothing.
Chief BLUNT.
“There. We shall not have to wait long for an answer. Mr. Barnum is not at home; he is in the telegraph office—it is his way when he has business on hand. Inside of three—”
Done.—P. T. BARNUM.
So interrupted the clicking telegraphic instrument. Before I could make a comment upon this extraordinary episode, the following despatch carried my thoughts into another and very distressing channel: