“THAT don't hurt!” said the barber. “You WILL get it, though, if you don't sit stiller,” he continued, nipping in the bud any attempt on the part of his patient to think that he already had “it.”
“Pfuff!” said Penrod, meaning no disrespect, but endeavoring to dislodge a temporary moustache from his lip.
“You ought to see how still that little Georgie Bassett sits,” the barber went on, reprovingly. “I hear everybody says he's the best boy in town.”
“Pfuff! PHIRR!” There was a touch of intentional contempt in this.
“I haven't heard nobody around the neighbourhood makin' no such remarks,” added the barber, “about nobody of the name of Penrod Schofield.”
“Well,” said Penrod, clearing his mouth after a struggle, “who wants 'em to? Ouch!”
“I hear they call Georgie Bassett the 'little gentleman,'” ventured the barber, provocatively, meeting with instant success.
“They better not call ME that,” returned Penrod truculently. “I'd like to hear anybody try. Just once, that's all! I bet they'd never try it ag——OUCH!”
“Why? What'd you do to 'em?”
“It's all right what I'd DO! I bet they wouldn't want to call me that again long as they lived!”