“Shave this gentleman right away,” he ordered. “A good quick job.”
“Yes, sir,” replied the prisoner.
“You needn’t wait, Warden,” said the governor. “I’ll rejoin you in your office in a few minutes.”
The warden accordingly departed, the barber closing the door behind him. The governor climbed into the chair and was tilted back. A crisp cloth was tucked about his collar, warm, soft suds were applied to his face and deft fingers kneaded the soap and rubbed it in among the hair roots, then the razor began mowing with smooth, even strokes over the governor’s jowls—first one jowl, then the other. This much was done in a silence broken only by the gentle scraping sound of the steel against the bristles.
It was the convict who spoke first, thereby violating a prison rule. He had finished with his subject’s jaws; the razor hovered above the Adam’s apple.
“I know you,” he said coldly; “you’re the governor.”
“Yes,” said his Excellency, “I am.”
“Then you ought to recognize me, too,” continued the barber. “Take a look!”
Slightly startled, Governor Blankenship blinked and peered upward into a face that was bent just above his own face.