“‘Heavenly,’ he says.
“‘You want a good shampoo, sir,’ I says. ‘There’s a deal o’ dandruff in your head.’
“‘That’s what the hairdresser said,’ says he, an’ he sighs again.
“‘Oh, yes; I know,’ says I; ‘they allus do, and wants you to buy bottles o’ their tintry-cum-fuldicus. You leave it to me, sir. Little white o’ egg and borax, and a finish off with some good scented soap; and then if anyone sees some o’ that stuff in your head, sir, just you tell me.’
“He’s a very nice gent, sir—I mean Dick; but the way he’s been neglected and preyed on by barbers and sich is shameful. Why, he’s got stuff enough in his quarters to stock a shop.”
“Then you think you’ll get on with him, Jerry?”
“Think? Not me! You ask him if he’ll let me go, and you’ll see. I sent him out this morning pretty tidy to parade, quite early—and don’t he like you to dress him—and when he come back, looking done-up, I was ready for him with a pick-me-up. You see there’s a lot of him, and he want nootriment.”
“‘What’s this?’ he says.
“‘Your lotion, sir,’ I says, and he tasted it, and tasted it again, sipping, then mouthfulling, and sets the glass down, with a sigh.
“‘What is it, Brigley?’ he says.