A Barber-cms Story.

Otago Witness, Issue 2604, 10 February 1904, Page 73

A Barber-cms Story.

Here is a little experience of mine in the WcGt of Ireland. I will tell how it happened, as nearly as I can remember. I travelled down from Dublin to a small town in a well-known hunting centre, in which., as I had se-eu. by an advertisement in one of ih© daily papers, a sal© of some hunters was to take place. They were tho property of a gentleman in the neighbourhood who waa disposing of his stud — or perhaps it was the mortgagees were dieposing of it for him — I forget, but it doesn't matter.

Th© sale took place on Saturday afternoon, and I decided to stop the night at the hotel, as I thought I would like a further look at my purchases and put them over a. few hurdles on the Sunday morning before I returned to Dublin. A few of the local "squireens," a dealer or two, and some hunting men stopping in the place loofced in during the evening, and considerable- "laehina" of the "crathur" were put away while w© discussed the merits of horseflesh a-nd horse-manship. Finally the last visitor jogged away into the night, with a tight skin ajid a loo=e rein, and a lighthearted confidence in his nag's ability to iind his way home, and I, not unthankful that I had nothing more difnoult than a flight of lather eteep eteps and narrow stairs to negotiate, found my way to bed. . On Sunday morning, after a look in the glaes, I had no mind to tempt Providence by a rash attempt to remove my yesterday's bea-rd. So, on descending to the coffee room, I inquired 1 of the head waiter — a, genial old gentleman in a suit of dilapidated black with a wisp of soiled white tie under his ear,- who combined the duties of head waiter with those of barman, boots, and stablehelp — if he could put me in the way of finding a barber. " A barber, is it? There's Miokey O'Shoa, that'e the boy for tho job, in the High 6treat ; but sure h«'fi the Master o' the Cirimonies at the £>ancin' Academy, and it's r.ot for shavin' he'll be this morning with the bhoya and girls takin' Jie fiure last night till the small hours." He -scratched his moth-eaten red head. "There's M'Ca,rthy — & decent bhoy enough — shure he'll b& open, but maybe your honouir " •' Does M'Oarthy shave?" I interrupted. " Sure, an' he's a. barb&r by trade," he replied, ambiguously. •" Maybe he'll be through with the bhoye by now," he added, reflectively. "'He'll do; where shall I find him?" I inquired. He directed me to M'Carthy's 6^°P - mi I found it, in a small by-street. Th© door was ope>n ; I walked in. As I entered, one of the "bhoys" came out, brushing past me in tho doorway. He vvats holding his hand to his chin, which was untidily thatched with sticking plaster. "It's a clumsy ould dhivil ye are," he muttered. It waa not encouraging, but I had gone too far to retrea-t with, honour. I looked round the dingy little shop. A short, squat, but powerfully-built man, in a shirt and breeches, the -shirt open at the collar and showing some inches of. a thick, red bull neck, was r-tanding with his back to me by the Gide of a rickety wooden dressing table with a cracked ha-sin and a eoap dish on it. This, I judged, with further misgiving, to be the "daceot bhoy" M'Carthy. He. was apparently stropping a razon on a strap hooked to th© wall. "Keep shtidy, can't ye," he mutteied, cawing the air v/ith the razor as the strap relaxed and he lurched forward with hte head 1 against the well. I watched him fascinated. Thore wad a sudden tightening of the strap as he swayed gently out again, and I heard the irregular ewish of the razon on the leather. "And hould ye as I wll, there's no pkzin' ye this morning, shlippin' up on the bhoy's faces. Ah, it's «tickin' in the etiap ye'd be; to hell wid ye-!" The strap parted and he fell against me. "I — I want a ehave," I said, quaveringly, as ho leaned against me with the razor in one, hand. I felt the horrible fascination of the rabbit for the boa oonstrietor as I met his fierce little bloodshot blue eyes deep set in a freokkd expanse of raw feature, and surmounted by a fiery mop of coarse, thick hair. __ . .' r "A ~Jia\e", is it?' A mixture of amazement, determination, and triumph struggled through the mental fog in which he was groping at the moment he fell into my anne, and hia little eyes gleamed "as they lookied into mine. With a great effort he pushed me away, and, with one hand eupporting himself against my chost, he scanned jiy appearance. "And it's quality ye are. Hurroo ! it's the luck that's come to ye at last. M'Carthy, me bhoy I"

With another mighty effort he regained his balance, and stumbled to the inner door of the shop. "Bridget — be quick then— Bridget — the bottle — it's shtandm' on tho (able — bring the bottle — I'll taike- a drop to htids* meself before. I attack this man," I pulled myself together and fled. — Fbank CubzO"- in the Pelican Christmas Annual.