|Before going out to his work, Hartley had a little talk in private with Walter.
Fearing he might be inconvenienced from want of money—having heard him say, at their first meeting on Westminster Bridge, that he had none—the worthy stonemason, with great consideration, volunteered to lend him five pounds, on the simple understanding that this sum was to be repaid when Walter had earned so much wages.
Thus amply provided with funds, Walter sallied forth after breakfast to make a few necessary purchases preparatory to entering upon the situation, should he obtain it—and telling Mrs Hartley what to say to Mr. Tankard, in case that obliging person should call during his absence.
His first business was to seek out a hair-dresser's shop; and, hearing there were several in the Lambeth Road, he went thither.
He had not proceeded far, when he came to an establishment that bore the name Sigebert Smart, in large gilt letters, above the window, and promised all he desired.
Entering the shop, he perceived two persons—one a showy-looking female, stationed behind a counter laden with pots of pomade, flacons of oil, brushes, sponges, and perfumery; the other, a dapper, fair-complexioned young man, with his blonde hair brushed back from his forehead.
This was Sigebert Smart in person. Having been for a year in Paris, at a large shop in the Rue St. Honoré, he considered himself perfectly versed in all the arts and mysteries of a French coiffeur, and incomparably superior to any of his rivals in the Lambeth Road.
Walter thought the hairdresser stared at him rather inquisitively as he entered the shop; but the man's manner was perfectly polite, and, on learning his customer's requirements, he begged him to step into an inner room, communicating by a glass-door with the shop.
“Pray be seated, sir!” said Sigebert, pointing to a well-stuffed arm-chair. “Shaved, I think you said, sir?”
“Shaved!” repeated Walter.