“A black wig,” he muttered, “will help materially to disguise me.”
CHAPTER LXXXVII.
Jacob Gray’s Disguise.—The Troublesome Shoemaker Again.—The Visit.
Gray looked now anxiously right and left for a perruquier’s, where he might purchase a wig; for contrary to the general fashion of the day, he had worn his own hair and unpowdered. Time and great mental anxiety had, however, very much thinned as well as whitened his locks, and as he remarked, a black wig was certainly calculated to make a very material difference in his personal appearance.
There were several little mean barber’s shops in the immediate neighbourhood, but they were not possessed of such articles as he wished to purchase—the sphere of their operations being confined to the shaving of his majesty’s lieges, and particularly that portion of them who only once in a week submitted to the tonsorial operation.
Jacob Gray had, therefore, much to his dread, to wander into a better thoroughfare and more respectable street, in order to suit himself, and finally he got to Parliament-street before he could see a shop in which he was likely to get suited.
This he would not venture into until he was satisfied there was no one there but the master of the shop, when, more like an apparition than a welcome customer, he glided in, and asked for a black wig.
“Black wig, sir?—Yes, sir—certainly, sir—black wig, sir,” replied the shopkeeper, with great volubility—“should say, sir, you’ll look well, sir, in black wig, sir.”
“My time is precious,” said Gray. “Show me one immediately.”
“Certainly, sir. Time’s a precious commodity. No overtaking time, sir, no how. Lots of wigs, sir—black, brown—all sorts of shades, sir—all the gentry of Westminster wear my wigs, sir—once curled the wig of the speaker of the House of Commons, and once—”