Daisy was just preceding Elsie into a barber-shop.
“Do you keep taffeta or—or lamp-shades?” Daisy asked of the barber nearest the door.
This was a fat coloured man, a mulatto. He had a towel over the jowl and eyes of his helpless customer, and standing behind the chair, employed his thumbs and fingers in a slow and rhythmic manipulation of the man’s forehead. Meanwhile he continued an unctuous monologue, paying no attention whatever to Daisy’s inquiry. “I dess turn roun’ an’ walk away little bit,” said the barber. “ ’N’en I turn an’ look ’er over up an’ down from head to foot. ‘Yes,’ I say. ‘You use you’ mouth full freely,’ I say, ‘but dess kinely gim me leave fer to tell you, you ain’t got nothin’ to rouse up no int’est o’ mine in you. I make mo’ money,’ I say, ‘I make mo’ money in a day than whut Henry ever see in a full year, an’ if you tryin’ to climb out o’ Henry’s class an’ into mine——’ ”
“Listen!” Daisy said, raising her voice. “Do you keep taffeta or——”
“Whut you say?” the barber asked, looking coldly upon her and her companion.
“We’re out shopping,” Daisy explained. “We want to look at some——”
“Listen me,” the barber interrupted. “Run out o’ here. Run out.”
Daisy moved nearer him. “What you doin’ to that man’s face?” she asked.
“Nem mine! Nem mine!” he said haughtily.
“What were you tellin’ him?” Daisy inquired. “I mean all about Henry’s class an’ usin’ her mouth so full freely. Who was?”