"Yes, yes; but no man lives for ever," said the German, cutting short the formula. "I was about to say that I cannot shave myself. I have worn a beard for twenty years, but naturally I had to discard it on resuming my career in our German army. I explain this, because it is foreign to my nature to be dependent. I prefer to do everything myself. Also my beard grows strong: therefore is it necessary that your razor should be particularly keen. And now proceed."
Burnet had some difficulty in repressing a smile. Major Burckhardt was a tubby little man, with an immense dome-like head, rather bald, and spectacled. His brown moustache was brushed up at the ends. He wore a long camel's-hair dressing-gown that accentuated his rotundity. Burnet vividly remembered his last sight of the little man, then heavily bearded. He was being rushed down the slope of a tell by Burnet's father, who had seized him by the scruff of the neck, the German frantically calling upon his Arab followers to assist him against the English interloper. Prudently, the Arabs had stood by, gravely watching the scene.
"Yusuf, spread the napkin," said the barber. "Your excellency will have no cause to regret the misfortune that has befallen your barber. In all Bagdad, nay, in all the realm of the Padishah there is no razor equal to this, whether for keenness or for the velvet softness of its touch. Your excellency will be soothed and——"
"Yes, yes," the major interrupted; "get to work. I want my breakfast, and I am already later than my usual hour."
Firouz Ali, like all loquacious people—even though his loquacity was designed—disliked the spoiling of his sentences. He pressed his lips together, and vigorously stropped his razor, signing to Burnet to lather the officer.
While Burnet was preparing the lather, Major Burckhardt, his thick neck swathed with a snowy napkin, looked up at the ceiling, and discoursed of many things.
"There are great days coming for this city of yours, barber. When our Kaiser establishes a protectorate over the country, Bagdad will regain something of its old renown—nay, it will become even more illustrious than it was in its palmiest days. And we have not long to wait." Here Burnet began to lather; but the major, having started on the pleasant pastime of hearing himself speak, continued, in spite of the brush that was travelling over his cheeks and chin. "The English are beating their heads vainly against the impregnable fortresses down the river, erected by German genius. Soon they will be swept away into the sea they claim as their own; that race of boastful braggarts, robbers, hypocrites, scoundrels, scum——"
How far the major's vocabulary of abuse would have extended will not be known, for at this moment Burnet dabbed the shaving-brush, thick with the whitest and creamiest of lathers, into the German's half-open mouth. The little man jumped up, spluttering with froth and fury. Firouz Ali instantly feigned an explosion of rage. Seizing the brush, he flung Burnet aside and shouted:
"Away with you, you clumsy fool, last of a generation of apes! Woe is me that I should call you kin! Would you shame me before the very face of his excellency? Would you take away my good name, and cause it to be spread abroad throughout the world that Firouz Ali is the uncle of an ass? I pray your excellency to pardon me, the least of his servants, and not to turn away the light of his countenance from me because of the iniquities of this poor fool, who is but lately come from a mean village that I may sharpen his wits and better his manners. Stand here, poor witless lout, and hold me the basin: 'tis all you are fit for."