"Is the cashier in?"
"No," says he, "he's out. Are you a depositor?"
"Yes," says I.
"Then you're out, too; the police are on the trail now."
I went back to Harris, and gave him the last cent I had. He promised to
pay me back in an hour.
A month after I met him.
"Say," says I, "how about that money I lent you? You said you only
wanted it for a short time."
"That's right," says he, "I only had it for ten minutes. I went into a
faro game."
Some time ago, Harris visited a tailor and had an overcoat made. He
wanted trust, and the tailor, of course, wanted references.
Harris put up such a bluff that the tailor gave him the overcoat. He
certainly played his game to perfection.
Then Harris wouldn't pay.
The tailor came around and said:
"See here, Harris, wasn't I kind enough to let you have that coat on
tick? And now you won't pay. I'm sure it was the best that I could make,
and it must have worn well."
"Certainly," says Harris, "all my nephews wore it."
"There, didn't I tell you it--" began the tailor.
"Yes," said Harris, "every time it got wet it shrunk so that the next
youngest one could wear it."
Then the fun began.
[Illustration]
The tailor put the bill into a collector's hands.
The collector called upon Harris.
"I'm sorry for you, old man," said the collector, "but your tailor has
put your account into my hands for collection."
"Indeed, I'm so sorry for you. And you say you're going to try to
collect it eh?" says Harris. "Well, I am so sorry for you."
The collector couldn't get a cent. Every time he called after that,
Harris threw him downstairs.
Why, he got so after a while, that as soon as Harris appeared at the
door, he would rush to the stairs and throw himself down.
Harris had him trained.
The tailor hit upon a brilliant scheme.
He hired a woman to collect the bill.
Harris was in a dilemma. He couldn't throw a woman downstairs.
He told me about it, and asked my advice, but I had none to give.
The next time I met him he shook me by the hand and said:
"I got around that woman-collector business all right. She never went
back to the bloomin' tailor after the second time she called."
"Why," says I, "how did you manage it?"
"Oh!" says he, "that was dead easy. I just married her."
[Illustration]
Did you ever strike one of those people who are dead stuck on their
lineage and have charts tacked on their bedroom door, showing how many
thousand years they can trace their ancestors?