Tales of the Wonder Club, Volume II

by M. Y. Halidom

Still, I was anxious to know more about Heaven; how long it took to get there—being so far off; whether father wouldn't get tired flying all that distance, and if so, where he would stop to rest on the road; what sort of amusements there were in Heaven, and finally whether there was any shaving there. This last question was a puzzler. I was not to be put off by mother telling me that angels didn't require shaving, for then I argued that if father had gone to Heaven, he would be out of employment, and consequently miserable and not happy, for I knew what pleasure my father took in his business. Now if my father could not be happy without employment, the only employment he cared about being shaving, and if in Heaven that employment were not permitted or encouraged, it followed that my father could not be in Heaven, for who ever heard of a soul in Heaven and not happy?

My next question was whether there were any shaving in the other place. This was equally difficult to answer, for if my mother should admit that there was, then I should have argued that my father must be there, which would not have been a consoling idea, and if not, where should he be, since he could not be in either of these places? My mother was fain to confess that she did not know much about it, but said she would ask the minister. Whether she did or not, I never ascertained. I began to reflect for myself. The apostles were good men, as I had been given to understand, and good men always went to Heaven. Yet from their effigies upon the old stained-glass windows of the village church, they were all represented with long beards. Therefore barber-craft could not be encouraged in Heaven. Nothing could be more conclusive than this. My doubts were at rest for ever, but I felt less happy than before I began to argue on these matters.

Ever since my father's death the whole weight of the business fell upon my mother. Even in my father's lifetime she had so profited by his lessons as to be able to lend a helping hand occasionally when the customers were numerous and was thought to possess no inconsiderable skill in the art, but now that my father was no more, she had to put her shoulder to the wheel for her very bread. As for myself, it was long before our villagers could be induced to place any confidence in my shaving, the report of my father's unlucky amputation having spread like wildfire through the neighbourhood.

At length a strange gentleman passed through the village, and calling at our shop, demanded to be shaved. My mother not being in at the time, I offered my services, which were accepted, and acquitted myself to the entire satisfaction of my customer. The gentleman chancing to mention to someone that he had been shaved by a mere boy, and better than he had ever been shaved in his life, my fame began to spread in the village, and from that day we were in no want of customers.

Business went on swimmingly until I was twelve years old, when I had the misfortune to lose my poor mother. I was now quite alone in the world, so in order to instruct myself more fully in the higher branches of the art, such as wig making, hair-cutting, etc., I offered myself as apprentice under the late Mr. Hackchin, under whose tuition in the wig line I vastly improved, although even from the beginning my shaving was universally preferred to his. Lor, sirs! his razors were never sharp, his water always lukewarm, and his hand shook as with the palsy. The fact was, he was getting old, was my poor employer, and ought, in my opinion, to have given up business long before he did, when he might have retired from the field with all due honours, and handed down his name unstained to posterity.

Well, gentlemen, not to wear out your patience, I will at once proceed to the very heart of my story—plunge into the very thick of the lather, as my poor father used to say—being about the time of my going abroad, and the reason of it. It was now some time since I had begun to cast sheep's eyes on the pretty Sally Snip, daughter of Simon Snip, the village tailor. We met by stealth, took long walks together of a Sunday in the green lane, danced together on the green on holidays, exchanged tokens, breathed vows of eternal fidelity, and all the rest of it. Our interviews were detected at length by Sally's parents, who looked on our attachment with no favourable eyes. Old Snip was ambitious, and designed quite another match for his daughter than a penniless young barber like myself, and gave me plainly to understand that if I did not sheer off he would baste my broadcloth for me. I was in a rage, but smothered it for prudence sake, yet didn't I wish in that moment that I had the shaving of him—wouldn't I have scraped him, that's all! Well, words grew high; I protested that my intentions were strictly honourable, etc., etc., but all to no purpose; the obstinate old parent wouldn't see what was for his daughter's good, and I left him very much disgusted. A few stolen interviews were attempted after this, but were all frustrated, and I soon saw we were not destined for one another, so we met for the last time, wept, embraced, and vowed still to love each other to eternity.

Now, there is no knowing but I might still have sought to renew my interviews, had not an extraordinary circumstance occurred to alter my determination. On the very night after our parting I was tossing restlessly on my bed, between sleeping and waking, when all of a sudden—whether it was a dream, I know not, but I fancy that I was awake—all at once there stood by my bedside the spirit of my father in the habiliments of the grave, unblemished in whiteness as the suds he used in his lifetime, and, approaching me solemnly, said,

"My son, all that has happened is for the best. Stick to thy trade, and rival the most illustrious of thy ancestors, to which end thou must visit Paris. I will guide thy steps. Practise incessantly. We shall meet again."

With these words the vision vanished, and I felt myself bathed in a cold sweat.

I slept no more that night, but rose early the following morning. My determination was fixed, for a parent's command from the other side of the tomb was not to be combated, so I scraped together my slender earnings, tied up my bundle, took leave of my employer, and paid my passage over to Paris.