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I don't want to see hide nor hair of you again until you need your next haircut. Understand?" Jerry understood. He realized that getting bills changed at the barbershop was over. Jerry was not his usual buoyant self over the weekend. His mother thought he might be getting a cold and gave him vitamin pills and made him drink extra orange juice.
Jerry took it and hurried out the door. Rick and Scotty watched as he went up the street and turned in at the barbershop. Scotty shook his head. "All I can hear in the earphone is a crackling noise." "Probably the paper bag," Rick said. "It would crackle as he walks." They waited impatiently. Presently Jerry emerged without the bag and walked down the street to join them.
Nothing too small for Cupido to notice ever happened in Alcira. Every weakness, every foible of the city's celebrities was made public by him in his barbershop, to the delight of the Opposition, whose members gathered there to read their party organ.
But Brull did not dare, for fear of gossip. His dignity as a party leader forbade his entering that barbershop where the walls were papered with copies of "Revolution" and where a picture of Pi y Margall reigned in place of the King's. How could he justify his presence in a place he had never visited before?
Just keep quiet, and see the solid citizens rear around." Old Orrin McIlvaine came out of the post office and tried the door next, then stood for a long time reading the notice, and at last walked thoughtfully away. Soon he returned, to the merriment of the fellows in the barbershop, with two or three solid citizens who had been smoking an after-breakfast cigar and planning a deer hunt.
Then he and Scotty went across the street, taking care to keep out of sight of the barbershop by using parked cars as cover. Rick found a vantage point behind a sedan that had all its windows open. He focused the monocular on the barbershop window. Vince Lardner, the shop owner and until now the sole barber, was cutting the hair of a man Rick recognized as a local resident.
The candy-striped pole, which indicates nobility proud and ancient along the palace-bordered canals of Venice, indicated merely the humble barbershop along the main street of Dawson's Landing.
Scotty drove down the main street, and as he passed the barbershop, he reported, "There's a man in the chair. Maybe our friend is waiting for him to leave." "We'll see." Rick's plans had not gone beyond this point. The objective had been to see whether the houseboaters made contact with the barber. But now he realized that a simple contact wasn't proof of anything.
The Roman Gynæceum would be an impossibility to-day. You might as well expect Delilah to open a barbershop on board this boat as ask any of these advanced females below-stairs to sew buttons on a pirate's uniform after a fray, or to keep the fringe on his epaulets curled. They're no longer sewing-machines they are Keeley motors for mystery and perpetual motion.
Scotty spoke up. "That's what puzzles me, Steve. Why the switch from long-distance electronics to violence?" "When we moved the project to Spindrift, we also removed the chance of taping project members in some natural setting like the barbershop. They had hoped to knock out the team without anyone suspecting it was enemy interference. That worked, at first.
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