THE BARBER. ( Applying the styptic ) No, sir, I'm quite sane. ( THE CUSTOMER tries to sit up. ) Oh, don't do that, sir! Don't do that! My razor is frightfully sharp!
THE CUSTOMER. ( Panic-stricken ) I want to sit up!
THE BARBER. Don't try it while the razor is at your throat, sir. It is sure to be fatal.
THE CUSTOMER. Then take it away!
THE BARBER. Oh, no, no, no! When I am through shaving you—not before. Now take it easy, sir. Lie back quietly! Quietly! That's it.
THE CUSTOMER. ( Controlling himself with an effort, and putting his cigar in his mouth ) What are you going to do with me? What's this? A hold-up?
THE BARBER. What am I— ( With a sudden access of rage. ) Take that filthy thing out of your mouth! ( He snatches the cigar, and throws it to the floor; continues obsequiously. ) What am I going to do with you, sir? Why, really, I haven't the slightest idea. Er—can't you suggest something?
THE CUSTOMER. ( Quickly and earnestly ) Listen to me. I must be at that meeting at once! I can't spare another minute. If I am not there before three-fifteen I will be ruined—do you understand me?—ruined!
THE BARBER. You needn't raise your voice, sir. My hearing is excellent. ( He lathers again, keeping the razor near THE CUSTOMER's throat. )
THE CUSTOMER. ( Piteously ) Can't I convince you? I