"You mean—you want another—"
"No!" Goma roared. He shuddered. "Not want haircut!"
"Well, what do you want, Chief?" Thurwinker asked, puzzled.
"I am Chief. I am brave. Bad man hurt me. People say I am not brave. I am not Chief any more. I am brave. I let bad man torture me. I am Big Chief." Again he pointed to his hair. "It grow. People soon see it grow and I will not be Chief unless I get haircut again."
"Oh," Thurwinker nodded. "When your hairs grows out you'll have to get another haircut or you won't be Chief. Is that it?"
"Yes," Goma mumbled. There was a silence. Then Goma asked, "Other—people—cut hair?"
"No," Thurwinker informed. "Just barber."
"Bar-ber." Goma turned the unfamiliar word around on his tongue. "Bar-ber. I will fix," he grunted. "I kill bar-ber." He arose and started for the door.
"No, no, no! Wait, wait!!" Thurwinker jumped to block Goma's way. After much persuasion, he got Goma back into his chair again. "Big Chief," he said, slowly. "You are right. Bar-ber is very bad man."
It was obvious that Goma agreed. "I kill?" he suggested, hopefully.