Scene.—Tonsor’s barbershop. Two barber’s chairs, C., facing audience. Table, L., with two hand-mirrors upon it. Table, R., with razors, strop, shaving-cups, towels, &c. McGinnis discovered dusting.
McGinnis. Now, isn’t this illigant! It’s a moighty foine lift I have in the worrld, onyhow. Mike McGinnis, who’s curried the horse and fed the pig, toted the hod and tinded the cows, promoted to the illigant position of a man-shaver! Oh! be jabbers, it’s moighty foine intirely,—what much I know ov it, and that’s moighty little. Faith, when Mr. Tonsor’s assistant was took wid the faver, it was at his wit’s ends he was intirely. Sez he to me, sez he,—for it’s always moighty fond he was of me whin I lived wid his father,—“Mike,” sez he, “did iver yer shave?”—“Is it meself?” says I: “faith, yes,—wid a pair of scissors.” “No, no!” sez he: “did ever yer shave anybody?” “Faith, yes,” sez I—“the pig.”—“Oh, murther!” says he: “I mane a man.”—“Niver a wun,” sez I; “but I could soon learn.” And so he took me in here to learn the business; but it’s precious little I’m learning, for the mashter does all the shaving: but the time must come, and then look out for yoursilf, Mike McGinnis. (Enter Tonsor, R.)
Ton. Ah, Mike! Brushing up? That’s good. I do like to see a busy man. Where’s Zeb?
Mike. Faith, I don’t know. It’s moighty little he’s shown of his face at all, at all.
Ton. The lazy scamp! that’s just like him. No doubt he’s down at the Corners dancing jigs, or turning flip-flaps for coppers.
Mike. Faix, that’s what yer might call turning an honest penny!
Ton. Any customers this morning, Mike?
Mike. Sorra a wun.
Ton. It’s a little early. They’ll soon be dropping in. Heigho, Mike! was you ever in love?
Mike. Ah! away wid yer, now! Ask an Irishman such a silly question as that! Musha, it’s nearly kilt I am wid the love of Nora Honey. Ah! but the ould man’s got rich peddling panuts.