"Why, of course I do, you infernal fool! What do you suppose I——?"
"Oh, well," I replied, recalling the aforesaid story to mind, "you get shaved across the street. We only lather, here."
OH WELL, YOU GET SHAVED ACROSS THE STREET, ETC.—PAGE 656.
He jumped from the chair, snatched a towel from the rack, wiped off part of the lather, seized his hat and coat, and was swearing like a pirate, as he rushed out with his ears and neck full of lather.
Just as he passed out the barber came in, and I called, "Next!" at the top of my voice. After crossing the street he started for the depot, but continued to gaze towards the barber shop with a look of vengeance, as he wiped off the lather with his handkerchief.
The barber was at a loss to understand the meaning of such actions on the part of a customer; but I readily explained to him that the fellow was mad because he didn't like our kind of soap.
A few moments later one of the regular customers came in, and had just taken his seat in the chair, when I noticed marked on the mirror in front of him, "Shaving, 10 cents."
I stepped to the glass and wiping the cipher off, made a 5 in its place. Our customer quickly asked what that meant. I replied: