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In one of the first-class cabins was the barber's shop, presided over by a man who in pre-war days had worked in a hair-cutting establishment not far from Victoria Station. Next door lived another man who had been a bootmaker, and he, bringing all the appurtenances of his trade to sea with him, carried on a roaring business as a "snob."
"Isn't this jolly?" cried Henry, dancing out of the barber's room, and coming down the deck with a one, two, three step, shaven, curled and perfumed after his usual exquisite fashion. "What's jolly?" asked Philip, looking out upon the dreary and monotonous waste through which the shaking steamboat was coughing its way. "Why, the whole thing; it's immense I can tell you.
But said one of the four servants, "Unless, indeed, this is a deliberate joke, I cannot bring myself to believe that men so intelligent as those present are, or seem to be, can venture to declare and assert that this is not a basin, and that not a pack-saddle; but as I perceive that they do assert and declare it, I can only come to the conclusion that there is some mystery in this persistence in what is so opposed to the evidence of experience and truth itself; for I swear by" and here he rapped out a round oath-"all the people in the world will not make me believe that this is not a barber's basin and that a jackass's pack-saddle."
Cole's, and after long waiting below, he being under the barber's hands, I spoke with him, and he did give me much hopes of getting my debt that my brother owed me, and also that things would go well with my father.
He would surround himself with an atmosphere of his own. His rage, his love, and his malignant hate, his tenderness and his lust should fill the barber's shop with a flood which would drown the Gorgio raider. He laughed to himself, almost unconsciously. Then suddenly he leaned his cheek to the instrument and drew the bow across the strings with a savage softness.
Achillas's mercenary army was advancing by stealthy marches to enter the city in the course of the evening. The mob had been aroused by agitators, until it was in a mood to rise en masse against the Romans, and join in destroying them. Such, in short, was the barber's story. There was no time to delay.
"What happened?" asked the very tired voice. "Those who reached the enemy's works alive were taken prisoner." Further talk was interrupted by a volume of voices singing, which seemed to issue from a cellar not far away. It had the swell of a hymn of resolute purpose. "The Browns' song something new since you were with us," explained the barber's son to the judge's son.
This seemed to be the consummation of the barber's hopes, for he turned sharp round, and actually ran away. Now, my sight is not very good at a distance, and therefore when the gentleman first appeared in the walk, I was not quite clear whether he was a stranger to me or otherwise.
Here we are, a vital, breathing entity, transformed to a mere chemical carcass by the bleak magic of the barber's chair. Roughly speaking, we spend three hours of this living death every year. And yet, perhaps it is worth it, for what a jocund and pantheistic merriment possesses us when we escape from the shop!
Barnum's new attraction, except the head porter no relation of an English head porter who thought it was "Fingal's babby, or maybe the blessed Sint Pathrick himself." And the little boy who brushed the frequenters of the barber's shop could not reach to Claudius's coat collar, so that the barber had to set a chair for him, and so he climbed up.
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