THE HAIRDRESSER’S SECRET.

Dunstan Times, Issue 2678, 11 August 1913, Page 2

THE HAIRDRESSER’S SECRET.

(By Archibald Marshall.)

An elderly patient, with a fringe of grey haar round a bald head, was being brushed down as 1 entered, and left tiio torture chamber with an air of grateful pride, reflecting, no doubt, that it would be another month before he need enter it again. How I envied him I

1 took the seat he had vacated and, as the white shroud was being wound round me, cast a glance at the man to whom for the next quarter of an hour I was going to submit myself, body and soul.

Ho was true to type. His hair was j dark and shining with Syrian pungu- j etnts, and he wore it longer than he j would have permitted me to wear mine. I His face was intelligent; he was a man | with whom I ohould have been glad to exchange ideas on things in general if we could have met at any time on equal terms. But it was that terrible sense of inferiority that I knew would paralyse me when wo came to grips about the weather, or whatever subject of conversation he should decide to pursue. I should try so hard to he bright and interested and well informed. and I. should fail so miserably. while ho, clipping and combing, and leaving off every now and then to give weight to his remarks, would be so abundantly at his ease. I knew it would be of no use to refuse the proffered conversation. I had tried that before and always been beaten. I have not the temperament for it. It was much better to come prepared, as one used to in the days of youth for a viva voce examination, and to hope that one’s luck would pull one through. But I had worked myself up to this point —that it should bo left for him to begin. , “Hair cut?” It was the invariable opening. If one only had the pluck to reply, ‘W hat do you think I come here for? To have my teeth stopped?” one might save a deal of subsequent stress. But, of course, one would never dare to do it. “Yea, please. Not too short.” Ho received the reply in silence. I was aifraid I might have advanced it too much in the ton© of a command and offended him. I repeated the words to myself several times to see bow they sounded', and concluded that there was nothing in them ‘to take objection to. I threw a glance at him through the glass and saw him withdraw his eyes from mo. I was afraid ho must have seen my lips moving and felt embarrassed, which was a pity, as I should want all the sangfroid of which I was capable. I rather liked the look of him —at least J told myself that I did, with a. sort of foolish idea of propitiating him. At any rate, lie had quite finished his breakfast. I never go to a hairdresser before twelve o’clock, so aa to give him time to do that. A minute went by in silence. I braced myself up. “Now, then,” I said to myself, “let’s get on to it. Is it to be the Marconi affair, or the suffragettes, or the weather for the time of year; or simply the dryness of my 'caip ? Which ever you choose you will find me ready.” S ; 1 he did not speak. I used the respite for running over a few facte. Let’s see. it is £SOOO a year that Lloyd George gets, isn’t it?_ Should bi-k lie might be content'with that. ’Vb-fi they'd pay it to me —quarterly. If I were M'Kenna I should let ’em starve. Scow stop their nonsense, (I shouldn’t, really do anything of the sort: but I shouldnt’ dare to say so. to him.) 1 remember a cold snap in April ot 1908 . Hang it! I’ve forgotten tho dates. And I looked them all up this morning. Must generalise if he hits on the weather. But what’s thfs? Ho has gone round one side already and hasn’t started yet. I throw another furtive glance at him. I hope he isn’t really annoyed.

Wonder what ho thinks of my hair. He must see that I’m no longer young. Shall suggest, if he gives mo an opportunity, that ho doesn’t often have to deal with such a crop in the case of a map getting on for fifty. (Am really a good way off fifty, but Ob, well, you know.)

Tina silence is getting on my nerves. \Voh I’d asked for an illustrated paper. He might have lot mo read it. i ii v don’t generally. Doesn’t ho want to talk? Surely he can’t bo waiting for me to begin! Ho doesn’t know that I have declared 1 won’t do that. “I’m afraid my hair is rather dry, isn’t it?” _ \ 1 know it’s weak of me, but I can’t put up with this cold silence any longer. Surely ho will relent at thdA and offer to sell me a preparation! I don’t want his preparation, and made up my mind before 1 came in that nothing would induce mo to buy anything; but 1 really must try to move him somehow.

Ho takes up a strand of hair, of course from the worst place, and regards it critically, “Yes, it is rather dry,’' ho says. A Jet off! I am so grateful to him that 1 plunge at once into bright talk. “Funny weather for the time of season, isn’t it? I don’t know what’s coming to the seasons. We never get any winter now till we’re well on into what ought to be spring. I remember a snowstorm in April in 1908, or was it 1909 —I can’t remember,” • “I can’t remember, either.” Ho must bo offended. Oh, why oan’b lie help mo? I plunge on. I attack Lloyd George whom in private I rather admire; I say things about the suffragettes that I would never dare to say at homo ; I touch on the shortness of the Terri‘orials. the Balkan War, aeroplanes, water-planes, the state of cricket. Ho lets me talk and says as little as possible in reply? Dare I hope that I am entertaining him? I feel that lam acquitting myself well; but I can’t keep it np much longer. • Thank goodness he has finished with the scissors and is at work with tho poodle clippers. It will soon bo over. I gather myself together for a last effort. Perhaps he indulges in secret reading. Bernard Shaw, Chesterton,, Dr Saleeby—l don’t remember what I said; it is like a nightmare to me. Ho let me talk. I refused the shampoo. It might have refreshed my brain, but I was at the end of my powers. He set me free. I was jocular at ‘he Inst and almost effusive in ray efforts to establish an understanding. But hie would have non© of it. I believe if I had asked him to come motoring with me when he had an afternoon off he would have refused. I nearly tried: some invitation of the sort, hut something inside me whispered that it was all over for another month at least. I drew myself together. I was a man again, and by the time I had reached the counter in the front shop hardly oared whether I

dad acquitted myself to Ms Satisfac-«| tiou or not. ¥ I had left my umbrella behind and * went back into the torture chamber to get it. He was standing with his back towards me addressing a feilLew executioner. ‘I wouldn't mind the job so much,” he was saying, “if they’d only leave you alone. They’re always so full of their silly talk.”