"Well, what makes him so terrible?" asked another.
"Because he hasn't got any face," replied the barber and the engineer in duct.
"Hasn't got any face!" repeated the man. "How can he do without any face?"
"He has no face in the front of his head.
In the place where his face ought to grow."
Bainbridge sang these lines pathetically as he arose and hung his hat on a hook. The man in the chair was about to abdicate in his favor. "Get a gait on you now," he said to Reifsnyder. "I go out at 7.31."
As the barber foamed the lather on the cheeks of the engineer he seemed to be thinking heavily. Then suddenly he burst out. "How would you like to be with no face?" he cried to the assemblage.
"Oh, if I had to have a face like yours—" answered one customer.
Bainbridge's voice came from a sea of lather. "You're kicking because if losing faces became popular, you'd have to go out of business."
"I don't think it will become so much popular," said Reifsnyder.
"Not if it's got to be taken off in the way his was taken off," said another man. "I'd rather keep mine, if you don't mind."