He was engaged, and at once entered upon his duties, not only as preceptor to the General, but as the efficient and always excellent interpreter at our exhibitions, and wherever we needed his services on the route. As he had lost his passport, when we came to Courtrai on the Belgian frontier, I managed to procure a permit for him which enabled him to proceed with the party. This was but the beginning of difficulties, for I had all our property, including the General’s ponies and equipage, to pass through the Custom-house, and among other things there was a large box of medals, with a likeness of the General on one side and of Queen Victoria and Prince Albert on the other side, which were sold in large numbers as souvenirs at our exhibitions. They were struck off at a considerable expense in England, and commanded a ready sale.
The Custom-house officers were informed, however, that these medals were mere advertising cards, as they really were, of our exhibitions, and I begged their acceptance of as many as they pleased to put in their pockets. They were beautiful medals, and a few dozen were speedily distributed among the delighted officials, who forthwith passed our show-bills, lithographs and other property with very little trouble. They wanted, however, to charge a duty upon the General’s ponies and carriage, but when I produced a document showing that the French government had admitted them duty-free, they did the same. This superb establishment led these officials to think he must be a very distinguished man, and they asked what rank he held in his own country.
“He is Prince Charles Stratton, of the Dukedom of Bridgeport, in the Kingdom of Connecticut,” said Sherman.
Whereupon they all reverently raised their hats when the General entered the car. Some of the railway men who had seen the distribution of medals among the Custom-house officers came to me and begged similar “souvenirs” of their distinguished passenger, and I gave the medals very freely, till the applications became so persistent as to threaten a serious pecuniary loss. At last I handed out a final dozen in one package, and said: “There, that is the last of them; the rest are in the box, and beyond my reach.”
All this while Professor Pinte was brooding over my remark to him about the loss of his passport; the word “showman” rankled, and he asked me:
“Mr. Barnum, do you consider me a showman?”
I laughingly replied, “Why, I consider you the eminent Professor Pinte, preceptor to General Tom Thumb; but, after all, we are all showmen.”
Finding himself so classed with the rest of us, he ventured to inquire “what were the qualifications of a good showman,” to which I replied:
“He must have a decided taste for catering for the public; prominent perceptive faculties; tact; a thorough knowledge of human nature; great suavity; and plenty of ‘soft soap.’ ”
“Soft sup!” exclaimed the interested Professor, “what is ‘soft sup.’ ”