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Updated: May 12, 2025
The contrast of this with the emplacement of the establishment on his bald head-top was to be the success of the idea. It was plain that I had no baldness, my hair being very thick and I but twenty-four years of age, when it was explained that my hair could be shaved. They asked me to accept, alas! not a part in the Revue, but a specialty as a sandwich-man.
And how many times did I unwillingly find myself in the too enlivening company of those pretty supper-girls, and what jokings upon his head-top did the poor bald gentleman not undergo from those same demoiselles with the bright eyes, the wonderful hats, and the fluffy dresses!
I had been timid with him always, and he counted on it now, but a man who has shown a painted head-top to the people of Paris will dare a great deal. "As the Prince says," replied Mrs. Landry, with many flutters, "one meets only the most agreeable people in Paris!" "Paris!" I exclaimed. "Ah, that home of ingenuity! How they paint there! How they live, and how they dye their beards!"
At the theatre the frightful badge was removed from my head-top and I was given three hundred francs, the price of my shame, refusing an offer to repeat the performance during the following week. To imagine such a thing made me a choking in my throat, and I left the bureau in some sickness.
Ah, yes, I did tremble! It was not because I feared she might recognize her poor slave of the painted head-top, nor that Poor Jr. would tell her. I knew him now too well to think he would do that, had I been even that other of whom he had spoken, for he was a brave, good boy, that Poor Jr.
"No," he replied, "we'll have to borrow an hour some day and run away." "Wouldn't that be fun! Oh, let's!" "I think we'll do it, then I can get re-acquainted with you." Polly chuckled. "As if you didn't know me clear through, from head-top to toe-tip!" "I feel quite like a stranger lately.
A man whose head-top had borne an advertisement of the Folie-Rouge to think he could be making a combat with the Prince Caravacioli! Leaning over the railing in the darkest corner of the terrace, I felt my hand grasped secondarily by that good friend of mine. "God bless you!" whispered Poor Jr. "On my soul, I believe he's done himself. Listen!" I turned.
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