The horrible face that Todd made as he spoke ought to have opened the eyes of any one to the fact that he was saying anything but what he thought, but no one saw it. When he pleased, Todd generally took care to keep his faces to himself.
"I don't wonder, Rev. sir," he said, "that your feelings prompt you to say what you do. I'm afraid I have taken off a little too much whisker, sir."
"Oh, never mind. It will grow again," said the person who was being shaved.
Todd suddenly struck his own head with the flat of his hand, as a man will do to whose mind some sudden thought has made itself apparent, and in a voice of doubt and some alarm, he pronounced the one word—
"Powder!"
"What's the matter? You are a long time shaving me."
"Powder!" said Todd again.
"Gunpowder," said the three-quarter shaved man, while the clerical-looking personage entirely hid his face, with the Courant.
"No," said Todd. "Hair powder. I told this gentleman, whose feelings regarding the church do him so much honour, that I had hair powder in the house, and it has just come over me like a wet blanket that I have not a particle."
The clerical-looking gentleman quickly laid down the Courant, and said wildly—