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Updated: May 23, 2025
Keebil, too, an old Southern relic, his head covered with suds of gray astrakhan and a laugh like the up and down of rusty bedsprings, for ten years had presided over the hirsute destinies of Lilly and her mother. Bi-monthly he arrived on his shampooing mission, often making a day's tour throughout the boarding house. "Mr. Keebil, don't you do the Kembles' heads first to-day.
Miss Lilly, if you ain't going to grow up the pick of them all." "Ouch! Mr. Keebil, you hurt!" cried Lilly, ever tender of scalp. Nor was Mrs. Becker above a bit of persiflage. "Mr. Keebil, I hear it is something scandalous the way you and Willie are setting up to each other."
Keebil and Snow Horton ever see any of them, Harry?" "No; you see it is nearly two years since " "I have a little daughter almost five years old!" "Gramaw followed up in the papers when you were married. Flora Kemble and Roy, they're both married, too." "Harry, didn't you ever hear anything about well, about my marriage?" "Yes, there was something about it. I forget. You live in New York?"
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