"But, Chief!" Thurwinker protested.
Goma brushed him aside and strode out of the hut. He was joined by his retinue which closed in about him, rudely shoving Thurwinker to one side. In silence, the procession marched up the street, apparently ignoring everything. They were nearly past Roy's barber shop when one of the natives let out a screech and froze with one foot slightly off the ground. The others turned to look through the barber shop window and, as they did, emitted groans, yelps and gasps.
Roy stopped his cutting and looked at the natives. He studied them for a moment and then went back to snipping his customer's hair. As the scissors closed on a lock of hair, a simultaneous groan went up from the assembled natives. The expressions of horror became more and more intense as the man's hair fell to the floor in little tufts. A tall, muscular native quietly fainted. None of the others paid any attention to him. Their eyes were riveted in terrible fascination on the gleaming shears.
Soon the man stepped out of the barber chair and smiled at Roy as he slipped on his jacket. He stopped at the door and stared at the natives curiously. They fell back as he approached and a low mutter ran through the group.
Thurwinker had drifted up sometime during the performance and stood scratching his head. The man looked at Thurwinker with a puzzled frown. "What are they doing here?" he asked.
Thurwinker shrugged. "I don't know."
Low mumbling ran through the group of natives.
"What are they saying?" the man asked.
"They say you are very brave," Thurwinker replied. "They seem to think you're a big hero."
The man shook his head and walked away bewildered.