“Don’t be an ass, Devlin,” said Noll, and sat down beside him on the step. “What’s the meaning of all this?”
The barber coughed:
“It’s anarchic I am—and filled with philosophic gloom,” he said. “It’s rollin’ round the intestines of me——”
“Oho! This is serious indeed!”
“It is.... It’s damn terrible.... I’m all at sea—like a great bumping motor-cart going down a great slithery waterfall.”
“Bad as that?” said Noll.
“It’s worse than that,” said Devlin, and hiccupped. “I wish I could get rid of this damn hiccup,” he added irritably—“it nearly pushes me off the steps each time.”
“Well, Devlin—can nothing be done for you?”
“It can. And I’m doing it.”
“What?”