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
THE BARBER. Oh, I believe you. Don't let that trouble you. In fact, I know all about the meeting. There's going to be an auction, and unless you bid, it will be all up with you.
THE CUSTOMER. Then you'll let me go there?
THE BARBER. I'm afraid I won't, sir.
THE CUSTOMER. But—
THE BARBER. If I may use your own words, sir, I don't give a damn about your meeting.