Mike. In a minute: aisy, aisy, sir! (Enter Heavyface.)
Heavy. Oh, yes! of course: all full, just as I expected! That’s the way the world over: there’s nothing but disappointment; every thing goes against me.
Mike. Your turn next, sir.
Heavy. Now, I suppose you call that consolation. I tell you the world is all going wrong; there’s nothing but misery and deceit in it. (Takes a chair, and seats himself between the two barber’s chairs.) A man’s got no real friends in this world: your riches are deceitful, your dearest friend may be your foe. Now, I suppose you two chaps feel perfectly comfortable in those chairs, with a pair of grinning fiends standing over you with razors, ready at the slightest provocation to plunge them in your throats.
| Simper. Oh, hawaws! | } Together rising up. |
| Crusty. What do you mean? |
Mike. (Pushing back Crusty.) Aisy, now, honey: it’s all right; don’t be timorous.
Zeb. (Pushing back Simper.) It’s all right, all right! don’ be timbertoed.
Heavy. Oh, yes! of course they say it’s all right, and you believe them; but I tell you it’s all wrong: wickedness and deceit are hid beneath the most smiling faces. I’ve heard horrible stories of barbers: they have been known to murder their customers in their chairs.
| Crusty. | } Starting up. { | Goodness, gracious! |
| Simper. | Oh, hawwible! |