"Don't you want me to try again?" inquired Bahuchet.
"Why, can't you see that you are tearing the skin off my head? I don't want to be trepanned!—What infernal kind of pomade did you give me?"
"Probably you are in too great a hurry; the work is not done yet; you must keep the covering on a while longer."
"Alas! I am beginning to think I shall keep it on forever; I don't want to have my skin torn off!"
"After all, that black cap is not bad-looking; you look as if you had on a wig, or, rather, as if your hair was cut too short. I assure you that it is preferable to your bald head."
Several weeks had passed since this conversation between the two clerks. Plumard was still wearing his woollen skullcap glued to his head; he tried to make the best of it, but there were times when a fit of anger seized him, and then he vented his fury upon Bahuchet, accusing him of having given him a pomade which, instead of accelerating the growth of his hair, must necessarily prevent the growth of anything whatever on his head.
To appease his comrade and restore their friendly relations, Bahuchet lost no time in taking him aside after the Chevalier de Passedix paid his first visit to the solicitor's office.
"There is a chance for a good windfall," he said; "this Gascon has inherited a lot of money; he wants to replenish his wardrobe. You have an uncle in the old clothes trade; let us go to his shop and select an outfit—we can make a hundred per cent on it with the Chevalier de Passedix. And then, I have an idea that he will be a profitable acquaintance for us; the newly made capitalist seems inclined to spend his inheritance merrily, and it is quite as well that he should run through it with us as with somebody else; don't you think so, Plumard?"
Plumard, having scratched his black woollen patch, with a wry face, pulled his other cap over his eyes and left the office with his comrade, saying:
"All right! let us go to see my uncle the old clothes man."