"Yes," Thurwinker said, triumphantly. "If you give land, I make bar-ber
go away."
"Other bar-ber come?" Goma asked.
"No."
"Bar-ber go away. No more cut hair. I will still be Big Chief, but will
not have hair cut. I will give land." Goma arose and marched out of the
hut. He was his old, imperial self again.
* * * * *
The ship's barber whipped the apron off Sam Purcell. "There, I cut
hair. I mean, it's all done."
Sam glanced in a mirror. "Yup, and a good job too." He stood up and
reached for his jacket. "Well, that's about all there was to the
affair," Sam continued. "Thurwinker let the word leak out to the
natives that Goma had captured Roy. This made Goma a bigger hero than
ever. We marched Roy down to the first transport that came in as if
he was a prisoner and kept our guns ready until they took off just to
impress the natives. Of course, we had to let our hair grow but we got
the iridium and that's what we were after. Just as long as the natives
don't see anyone with a haircut, everything will be fine."
The barber laughed. "I wouldn't have believed your story if I hadn't
seen your hair."
As Sam prepared to go, Captain Webster entered the barber shop and
stared at Sam. "Haven't I seen you somewhere before?" he asked.
"Maybe," Sam admitted with a hostile stare. "I'm one of your
passengers, if that'll help you any."
"Of course," Captain Webster chuckled. "I don't believe I got your
name, though."
"Purcell," Sam replied. "Sam Purcell."
"Well, well!" Captain Webster replied, jovially. "I'm certainly glad to
meet you, Mr. Purcell. Webster's the name." He extended a plump hand to
Sam.
Sam looked at the hand as though it were slightly decayed and walked
out.