"And what would the Hun say when he came back after the war and found your patent cutter in every one's pocket? His job would be gone. Really, I've a sneaking sympathy with the gentle Hun."
"I haven't—not a ha'porth. Anyway, now we've got to begin all over again, simply because young Barker hadn't the pluck of a—of a——"
He paused for want of a word.
"Of a cucumber?" suggested Eves, promptly filling the gap.
"Yes—of a cucumber," snapped Templeton, who, for all his lack of humour, was quick to suspect levity in his chum.
"By gum, he did look a sight!" added Eves, grinning in gleeful reminiscence. "Half his crumpet bald as a billiard ball; t'other half moth-eaten."
"Serve him right. If he'd waited until we'd readjusted the clippers, and shut his face instead of raising Cain and bringing old Sandy rushing in at a mile a minute, I'd have made a thorough good job of him. He was a beautiful subject, too; hadn't seen a barber for six weeks."
"And enough grease on his mane to make the thing self-lubricating. There's an idea for you, old man."
"Yes; I hadn't thought of that. But what's the good? Here we're in a quiet village, with the run of old Trenchard's disused barn; all the conditions favourable, but no funds! Upon my word——"
"Hullo, Postie," cried Eves at this point. "Anything for us?"