"A line or two! where?" cried Leander, and caught up the letter again. Yes, there on the last page was Matilda's delicate commercial handwriting, and the poor man read the cruel words, "I have nothing to advise; I give you up to your 'goddess'!"
"Very well, William," he said, with a deadly calm; "that's all. You young devil! what are you a-sniggering at?" he added, with a sudden outburst.
"On'y something I 'eard a boy say in the street, sir, going along, sir; nothing to do with you, sir."
"Oh, youth, youth!" muttered the poor broken man; "boys don't grow feelings, any more than they grow whiskers!"
And he went back to his saloon, where he was instantly hailed with reproaches from the abandoned customer.
"Look here, sir! what do you mean by this? I told you I wanted to be shaved, and you've soaped the top of my head and left it to cool! What"—and he made use of expletives here—"what are you about?"
Leander apologized on the ground of business of a pressing nature, but the customer was not pacified.
"Business, sir! your business is here: I'm your business! And I come to be shaved, and you soap the top of my head, and leave me all alone to dry! It's scandalous! it's——"
"Look here, sir," interrupted Leander, gloomily; "I've a good deal of private trouble to put up with just now, without having you going on at me; so I must ask you not to 'arris me like this, or I don't know what I might do, with a razor so 'andy!"
"That'll do!" said the customer, hastily. "I—I don't care about being shaved this morning. Wipe my head, and let me go; no, I'll wipe it myself,—don't you trouble!" and he made for the door. "It's my belief," he said, pausing on the threshold for an instant, "that you're a dangerous lunatic, sir; you ought to be shut up!"