"Well, Sir"—he held out his scissors—"these surely are effective."
"Cutting only makes it grow more quickly. The beastly stuff's so thick," I complained, "I can't do anything with it. What I want is some stuff——"
"Preparation, Sir."
"—— stuff for thinning my hair."
"For thinning the hair. Yes, Sir." He combed the atmosphere thoughtfully. "I should like to sell you something, Sir."
Of a sudden he snipped excitedly. "I have it!" he exclaimed. He moved back to the washstand and picked up a bottle. "The very thing," he said. He looked round cautiously, bent down towards my ear and coughed nervously. "Of course," he said, "this is—er—not a preparation for your particular complaint. I—er—it—between our two selves, Sir, it was—er—intended for other purposes."
"Yes?" I said.
"But, Sir, it may be just what you require."
"Yes, yes." I held my hand out for the bottle.
"Yes, Sir," he whispered. "It may be. At any rate I happen to know for a fact there is no possible danger of its increasing the growth of the hair."