"What then?"
"I'll give you a red wig. There's nothing will disguise you so quick as different colored hair."
"Have you got a wig?"
"Yes, here it is."
"It's ugly enough."
"Better wear it than your own hair at Sing Sing."
"That's where you're right, old man! Go ahead. You understand your business. I'll put myself in your hands."
Marlowe sat down in a wooden chair with a broken back, and the old man proceeded, with trembling hands, to cut his black locks with a pair of large shears, which he kept for this and other purposes.
"You're cutting it pretty close, Jacob. I shall look like a scarecrow."
"All the better," said the old man, laconically.