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Updated: July 21, 2025
What is your name, and what do you do on this ranch? "'Captain, says I, 'Percival Saint Clair is my occupation, and my name is sheep-herder. I've got my flock of veals no, muttons penned here to-night. The shearers are coming to-morrow to give them a haircut with baa-a-rum, I suppose. "'Where's the boss of this ranch? the captain of the gang asks me.
It was a more or less rough job, because shearing sheep does not make a man a good human barber by any means. But Shelley looked at his head in the glass and said it was the most beautiful haircut in the world. Fussy people might criticize it here and there, but they could never say it hadn't really been cut.
He didn't speak as a friend, but as a disinterested party who wanted justice done; and he proposed to secure it. We took all this quite humbly and asked him why he didn't see Ole himself and order him to unhand the lady. From the way he turned pale, we guessed he had done that already. Ole weighed two-twenty in his summer haircut and was quick-tempered. We then asked him why he didn't buy Ole off.
A bamboo cane was dropped loudly into the holder of the hat-rack; a soft hat was thrown down carelessly somewhere it sounded like a wet mop flung into a corner; and there entered a young man straight, slender, keen-faced, with red hair, a freckled skin, large thin red ears, and a strong red mouth. As he stepped forward into the light, he paused, parting the haircut of his eyes and blinking.
Plunkett, the time of the scandal about Shelley, had warned every barber in town that she would have the law on 'em if they ever harmed a hair on the head of a child of hers; and he was a law-abiding citizen. He didn't deny that the boy needed a haircut the worst way in the world, but at his time of life he wasn't going to become an outlaw. Keats had nearly broke down at this.
Also because the weakest woman under such circumstances has strong convictions. When the man is older the barber will sometimes allow him to see the haircut cleverly reflected in two mirrors; but not one man in a thousand nay, in ten thousand would dare express himself as dissatisfied. After all, what does he know of haircuts, he who is no barber?
The first barber's mouth slid somewhat open. His cigarette dropped to the floor. "Huh?" "My hair bob it!" Refusing further preliminaries, Bernice took her seat on high. A man in the chair next to her turned on his side and gave her a glance, half lather, half amazement. One barber started and spoiled little Willy Schuneman's monthly haircut. Mr.
Bernais peered at the marmoset, then nodded gravely. "Just one suggestion. He will undoubtedly be man- or monk-of-the-week on the cover of a news magazine. Perhaps you should give him a crew haircut, so he'll look more like one of the staff." He held up his hand and the chuckles subsided. "Then you can be ready, Cliff?... Good. Dick Earle! It's now up to you. How say you?" Dick hesitated.
This rather astounded the old gentleman. At this camp one day, Adjutant Clapp was having his haircut and accidently the barber nicked his ear a little.
Fortunately we begin having a haircut when we are too young to think, and when also the process is sugar-coated by the knowledge that we are losing our curls. Then habit accustoms us to it.
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