The Cambria Freeman

SHAVING A MILLIONAIRE.

Everybody who lives in New Jersey will recollect Billy Gibbons, the millionaire. He was an eccentric man, and numerous stories are told of his freaks. Here is one of them:

It seems that Billy, while in a country village, in which he owned some property, stepped into a barber's shop to get shaved. The shop was full of customers, and the old gentleman quietly waited for his turn.

A customer who was under the barber's hands when the old gentleman came in, asked the "knight of the razor," in an undertone, if he knew who that was, and, on receiving a negative reply, he informed him, in a whisper, it was "Old Billy Gibbons, the richest man in the State."

"Gad," said the barber, "I'll charge him for his shave."

Accordingly, after the old man had the operation performed, he was somewhat surprised upon asking the price, to be told "seventy-five cents."

"Seventy-five cents," said he, quietly, "isn't that rather a high price?"

"It's my price," said he of the lather brush, independently, "and as this is the only barber's shop in the place, them as comes into it must pay what I ask."

To the old man this was evidently a knock-down argument, for he drew three-quarters of a dollar from his pocket, paid them over to the barber, and left the shop.

A short time after this he was in close conversation with the landlord of a tavern hard by, and the topic of the conversation was "barber shops."

"Why is it," said he, "there's only one barber shop in town? There seems to be nearly enough work for two."

"Well, there used to be two," said the landlord, "till last winter, when this new man came up from the city, and opened a new shop, and as everything in it was fresh and new, folks sort of deserted Bill Harrington's shop, which had been going on for nigh fourteen years."

"But didn't this Bill do good work?—Didn't he shave well and cheap?"

"Well, as for that," said the landlord, "Bill did his work well enough, but his shop wasn't on the main street like the new one, and didn't have so many pictures and handsome curtains, and folks got in the way of thinking the new chap was more scientific and brought more city fashions with him, though, to tell the truth," said the landlord, stroking a chin grown with a beard resembling screen wire, "I never want a lighter touch or a keener razor than Bill Harrington's."

"Git fashions—eh?" growled the old man. "So the new man's city fashions shut up the other barber shop?"

"Well, not exactly," said the landlord, "though things never did seem to go well with Bill after the new shop opened: first, one of his little children died of fever; then his wife was sick a long time, and Bill had a big bill to pay at the doctor's; then, as a last misfortune, his shop was burned down one night, tools, brushes, furniture and no insurance."

"Well," said the old man pettishly, "why don't he start up again?"

"Start again?" said the communicative landlord; "why, bless your soul, he hasn't got anything to start with."

"H'm'm! Where does this man live?"

asked the old man.

He was directed, and ere long was in conversation with the unfortunate tonsor, who corroborated the landlord's story.

"Why don't you take a new shop?" said the old man; "there's a new one in the block right opposite the other barber shop."

"What!" said the other, "you must be crazy. Why, that block belongs to old Billy Gibbons: he'd never let one of those stores for a barber shop; they are a mighty sight too good; besides that, I haven't got twenty dollars in the world to fit it up with.'"

"You don't know old Billy Gibbons as well as I do," said the other. "Now listen. If you can have that shop all fitted up, rent free, what will you work in it for by the month? What is the least you can live on?"

The proposition somewhat startled the unfortunate hair-dresser, who finally found words to stammer out that perhaps twelve or fifteen dollars a month would be about enough.

"Pshaw!" said the old man. "that won't do. Now listen to me—I'll give you that store, rent free, one year, and engage your services six months, all on these conditions:

You are to shave and cut hair for everybody that applies to you, and take no pay; just charge it all to me, and for your services I'll pay you twenty dollars a month, payable in advance—pay to commence now," continued he, placing two ten dollar notes on the table before the astonished barber, who, it is almost unnecessary to state, accepted the proposition, and who was still more surprised to learn that it was Billy Gibbons himself that had hired him.

In a few days the inhabitants of that village were astonished by the appearance of a splendid new barber shop, far surpassing the other in elegance of appointments, and in which, with new mugs, soaps, razors and perfumes, stood a barber and assistant ready to do duty on the heads and beards of the people. Over the door was inscribed, "William Harrington, Shaving and Hair Dressing Saloon.

The people were not long in ascertaining or slow in availing themselves of the privileges of this establishment, and it is not to be wondered that it was crowded and the other deserted. The other held out some weeks, suspecting this free shaving—for Bill kept his secret well—was but a dodge to entice customers away, who would soon be charged as usual; but, when at the end of six weeks, he found Billy working away as usual, charging not a cent for his labor, and having money to spend in the bargain, he came to the conclusion that he must have drawn a prize in the lottery, or stumbled upon a gold mine, and was keeping barber shop for fun, so he closed the shop in despair and left the place.

Meanwhile Bill Harrington kept on busy as a bee, and one fine morning his employer stepped in, and, without a word, sat down and was shaved; on rising, from his seat he asked to see the score for the six months past. The barber exhibited it, and after a careful calculation, the old man said:

"Plenty of customers, eh?"

"Lots of 'em," said the barber; "never did such a business in my life!"

"Well," replied Money Bags, "you have kept the account well. I see I've paid you one hundred and twenty dollars for your services—all right—and there are three hundred and thirty charged for shaving all that applied; now, this furniture cost one hundred and eight dollars: balance due you one hundred and two dollars. Here it is. Now you own this furniture, and are to have this shop rent free six months longer, and after to-day you are to charge the regular price for work, for your pay from me stops to-day."

This, of course, the barber gladly assented to.

"But," said the old man, on leaving, "take care you never cheat a man by charging ten times the usual price for a shave; for it may be another old Billy Gibbons."