“Certainly. No matter who has money, nor where he keeps it, in his box or till, or anywhere about him, I have only to speak the words, and it comes.”
The shaving was completed in silence, but thought had been busy in the barber’s mind, and he embraced the speediest opportunity to transfer his bag of coin to the iron safe in charge of the clerk.
The movement did not escape me, and immediately a joke was afoot. I had barely time to make two or three details of arrangement with the clerk, and resume my seat in the cabin, ere the barber sought a second interview, bent on testing the alleged powers of Beelzebub’s colleague.
“Beg pardon, Mr. Barnum, but where is my money? Can you get it?”
“I do not want your money,” was the quiet answer. “It is safe.”
“Yes, I know it is safe—ha! ha!—it is in the iron safe in the clerk’s office—safe enough from you!”
“It is not in the iron safe!” said I. This was said so quietly, yet positively, that the colored gentleman ran to the office, and inquired if all was safe. “All right,” said the clerk. “Open, and let me see,” replied the barber. The safe was unlocked and lo! the money was gone!
In mystified terror the loser applied to me for relief. “You will find the bag in your drawer,” said I, and there it was found!
Of course, I had a confederate, but the mystification of that mulatto was immense.