Part 4 — JONES AT THE BARBER'S SHOP. PUNCH.
Reading edition
SCENE.—A Barber's Shop. Barber's men engaged in cutting hair, making wigs, and other barberesque operations.
Enter JONES, meeting OILY the barber.
JONES. I wish my hair cut.
OILY. Pray, sir, take a seat.
OILY puts a chair for JONES, who sits. During the following dialogue OILY continues cutting JONES'S hair.
OILY. We've had much wet, sir.
JONES. Very much, indeed.
OILY. And yet November's early days were fine.
JONES. They were.
OILY. I hoped fair weather might have lasted us Until the end.
JONES. At one time—so did I.
OILY. But we have had it very wet.
JONES. We have.
[A pause of some minutes.
OILY. I know not, sir, who cut your hair last time; But this I say, sir, it was badly cut: No doubt 't was in the country.
JONES. No! in town!
OILY. Indeed! I should have fancied otherwise.
JONES. 'Twas cut in town—and in this very room.
OILY. Amazement!—but I now remember well. We had an awkward, new provincial hand, A fellow from the country. Sir, he did More damage to my business in a week Than all my skill can in a year repair. He must have cut your hair.
JONES (looking at him). No—'twas yourself.
OILY. Myself! Impossible! You must mistake.
JONES. I don't mistake—'twas you that cut my hair.
[A long pause, interrupted only by the clipping of the scissors.
OILY. Your hair is very dry, sir.
JONES. Oh! indeed.
OILY. Our Vegetable Extract moistens it.
JONES. I like it dry.
OILY. But, sir, the hair when dry.
Turns quickly gray.
JONES. That color I prefer,
OILY. But hair, when gray, will rapidly fall off, And baldness will ensue.
JONES. I would be bald.
OILY. Perhaps you mean to say you'd like a wig.— We've wigs so natural they can't be told From real hair.
JONES. Deception I detest.
[Another pause ensues, during which OILY blows down JONES'S neck, and relieves him from the linen wrapper in which he has been enveloped during the process of hair-cutting.
OILY. We've brushes, soaps, and scent, of every kind.
JONES. I see you have. (Pays 6d.) I think you'll find that right. OILY. If there is nothing I can show you, sir,
JONES. No: nothing. Yet—there may be something, too, That you may show me.
OILY. Name it, sir.
JONES. The door.
[EXIT JONES. OILY (to his man). That's a rum customer at any rate. Had I cut him as short as he cut me, How little hair upon his head would be! But if kind friends will all our pains requite, We'll hope for better luck another night.
[Shop-bell rings and curtain falls.