"Well, that is a curious sign for a barber," said the shoemaker; "I've been puzzling my brains all day to find out what those poles could mean." They soon arrived at one of these shops, whence the cheerful notes of a fiddle issued towards them. Schmidt went in, while the rest employed themselves outside in noticing the passers-by, and in looking into the different shop windows; but they had not waited long, before Schmidt, with his face all over lather up to his eyes, came running out again, clapped his hat on his head, and fled. The three burst into a roar of laughter, and other people also stopped to see what was the matter. But Schmidt, who perhaps was a little ashamed, quickly wiped the soap off with his handkerchief, and turned aside into a side street, whither his comrades followed him. "What, in the name of wonder, has happened to you?" asked the brewer. "Nothing," said Schmidt; "I was a jackass; but I got such a fright when I saw that tall black fellow with the razor." "The _black_ fellow?" asked the tailor. "Yes," said Schmidt. "When I went in, I sat myself down with my face to the door, and a little white boy lathered me, while at the back of the shop, behind a sort of curtain, somebody was performing beautifully on a fiddle; it went so fast, that one could not distinguish the different notes. When my face had been lathered, the playing suddenly stopped, and before I was aware of it, one of those negro fellows that run about the streets here by dozens--a big, dangerous-looking fellow, with great goggle eyes, and a shining razor in his hand--approached me. I suppose that he was going to shave me, but I was so startled that up I jumped, tore the napkin off my neck, caught up my hat, and was out of the house like lightning; they must have had a good laugh at me." "Didn't they just laugh!" said the shoemaker; "the black stepped into the doorway, and grinned till it looked as though his two rows of teeth stretched from ear to ear. But it was stupid of you, Schmidt; he wouldn't have cut your head off." "Oh, I know that well enough, only I was so taken aback at the first moment; the fellow looked so grim. What am I to do now?" "Why, go into some other barber's shop, for you must not show yourself in that one again on any account; it's as well that we leave here to-morrow morning. There's one down yonder." Schmidt followed this advice, and went through the operation this time, but declared positively, that he had again fallen into the hands of a black. When this matter had been disposed of, they wandered slowly down Main-street again, and got entrance tickets for the Museum.