I don’t need to hear the dialogue. I can tell by her expression what Daggett is saying. First there’s a kind of condescendin’ curiosity as he begins, then she looks bored and turns back to the mirror, and pretty soon she sings out, “What’s that?” so you could hear her all over the shop. Then Daggett springs his proposition flat.
“Sir!” says she, jumpin’ up and glarin’ at him.
Daggett tries to soothe her down; but it’s no go.
“Mr. Heinmuller!” she calls out, and the boss barber comes steppin’ over, leavin’ a customer with his face muffled in a hot towel. “This person,” she goes on, “is insulting!”
“Hey?” says Heinmuller, puffin’ out his cheeks. “Vos iss dot?”
And for a minute it looked like I’d have to jump in and save Daggett from being chucked through the window. I was just preparin’ to grab the boss by the collar, too, when Daggett gets in his fine work. Slippin’ a ten off his roll, he passes it to Heinmuller, while he explains that all he asked of the lady was to try on a hat he was thinkin’ of gettin’ for his wife.
“That’s all,” says he. “No insult intended. And of course I expect to make it worth while for the young lady.”
I don’t know whether it was the smooth “young lady” business, or the sight of the fat roll that turned the trick; but the tragedy is declared off. Inside of three minutes the boss tells Daggett that Miss Rooney accepts his apology and consents to go if he’ll call a cab.
“Why, surely,” says he. “You’ll come along, too, won’t you, McCabe? Honest, now, I wouldn’t dare do this alone.”
“Too bad about that shy, retirin’ disposition of yours!” says I. “Afraid she’ll steal you, eh?”