Brock the barber paused suddenly in his soliloquy; for he beheld within the radius of the looking-glass another form besides the reflection of himself. A little man, with a peculiar cast of face and features, stood behind the chair, with his arms akimbo, and his old-looking head [[52]]on one side, listening greedily to the barber’s utterances.
“Good-evening, sir,” said Tom, starting to his feet. “Cold night?”
The little man only grinned like a monkey in reply.
“Shave, or hair cut, sir?” asked the barber, rubbing his lean hands with professional expectancy.
“Shave?” echoed the customer in a voice like a croaking raven. “Do I look as if I wanted shaving? No man shall take me by the nose, and I know you can’t shave without doing that.”
“No offence, sir. Shall I cut your hair?”
“Yes, Tom Brock. Cut it short, very short.” And the wee fellow chuckled heartily as he divested himself of a cloak, in which he had been wrapped from head to heel, and seated himself in the chair before the mirror. The new-comer, although very small for his age, was quite cool and self-possessed. He gave all manner of directions respecting the mode in which he required his hair trimmed, made faces at the glass, and laughed at the grimaces reflected there.
Tom Brock had had many queer customers during the twelve years he had been in business, [[53]]but he had never seen such a quaint, small mite of a man as this one before him. In fixing the wrapper about his shoulders Tom could scarcely repress an exclamation of surprise at the colour and texture of his companion’s apparel. Of what material were they composed—cloth, tweed, silk, cotton? No; mortal warp or weft never manufactured such fabrics. Some other agency—subtle and mysterious as many unexplained things we see around us—had perchance woven these articles. For in this lower world there are cloaks much less substantial than a fairy’s jerkin—cloaks for which Dr. Johnson and his followers have been unable to find a name, but which are indispensable to many of us in our daily lives.
Had the barber been less engaged in taking stock of the manner and appearance of his strange customer, he might have discovered at once that to shorten this fellow’s hair was an utter impossibility, for as fast as the keen scissors severed the long, yellow locks the particles became instantly attached again. The barber’s eyes were too intent watching the grimaces in the mirror to observe the startling fact.
“Been long in the colony, sir?” insinuated he, by way of opening a conversation.