His eyes fell upon the clock and he started with surprise. “Why, it can’t be that late! Only a moment ago I looked and it was—I couldn’t have seen straight or something’s gone wrong with it. Anyway, I’d better get a move on.”
He turned briskly to the mirror to resume the operation of shaving and stared again as he put out his hand to pick up the razor. For it was not where he had laid it down a moment before. His wondering glance quickly discovered it on the other side of the dressing table, and bewildered amazement overspread his countenance. It was laden with the results of recent use.
“The devil!” he gasped. “I hadn’t shaved! I hadn’t even lathered!”
But the half fearful look of inquiry he darted into the mirror showed his face to be freshly shaven, and in the usual manner, except the upper lip, where had been left the faint, dark stubble of a mustache.
CHAPTER II
“Like Ottar of Roses Out of an
Otter”
“