That was a negative strong enough to have crushed some men, but it only acted as a spur on the proprietor of the museum.
“Then I should advise you to go up, sir. I was there this morning, just casting an eye round for spars and crystals, and natural hist’ry specimens in general, and Mr Gartram’s men have blasted out some of the finest stones I think I ever saw.”
Wimble waited for an answer, but none came; and, after a little snipping, which was all done with the operator’s head very much on one side, he continued—
“Fine property, that of Mr Gartram’s, sir. Grand estate.”
Chris felt as if he would have liked to gag the barber with his own lather brush. But he sat still, holding his breath while the man prattled on.
“You said much off, sir? yes, sir; very good plan, sir; keeps the head cool, and after a wash or a shampoo, just a rub with the towel and there you are. I often admire our visitor, Mr Glyddyr, for that, sir.”
Chris flinched.
“Don’t be alarmed, sir; only the scissors touched the skin; cold steel, sir. Keeps his hair very short, sir; quite like a Frenchman. Wonderfully fond of our town, sir. His yacht’s always here.”
Chris grunted, and wished he had not come to have his hair cut, as the man innocently prattled on.
“If I might take the liberty of saying so, why don’t you take to a yacht?”