Thurwinker turned back to the natives and all of them were looking at Goma. Goma glanced from face to face, fingering his shoulder length hair. He shuddered and looked pleadingly at the others. Faint lines of what Thurwinker thought was disgust began to appear on the group of faces.
Thurwinker smiled suddenly. "I think I know what they want," he mumbled to himself. "Chief," he called. "You want—" He paused trying to find the words. Then taking a piece of his own hair, he made cutting motions with his fingers.
Goma's beady eyes dilated and he shook visibly.
"Come," Thurwinker urged, opening the barber shop door.
Hesitantly, Goma took a step forward.
"Come," Thurwinker urged again. "It won't hurt." He pointed to himself and asked, "I go first?"
"No!" Goma roared. He thrust Thurwinker aside and galloped to the barber chair. Roy looked questioningly at Thurwinker.
"It's all right," Thurwinker grinned. "Go ahead. This will put them at ease. Maybe this is just the thing we've been looking for. Yes indeed, just the thing. But be careful, Roy. Yes, yes, very careful."
Roy nodded and tried to run a comb through the Chief's matted hair. Each time Goma was touched, he shivered. The other natives watched through the window and shook whenever Goma did. Roy isolated a small section of hair and placing his scissors against the comb, he snipped it off. With a scream of terrible agony, Goma's body convulsed in the chair. He leaped upright, holding his head with one hand while he looked wildly about.