'Tis much the same with a barber. You need a shave in a hurry and
he is willing that you should have a shave, he being there for
that purpose, but first and last he can think of upward of thirty
or forty other things that you ought to have, including a shampoo,
a hair cut, a hair singe, a hair tonic, a hair oil, a manicure, a
facial massage, a scalp massage, a Turkish bath, his opinion on
the merits of the newest White Hope, a shoeshine, some kind of a
skin food, and a series of comparisons of the weather we are having
this time this month with the weather we were having this time last
month. Not all of us are gifted with the power of repartee by
which my friend Frisbee turned the edge of the barber's desires.
"Your hair," said the barber, fondling a truant lock, "is long."
"I know it is," said Frisbee. "I like it long. It's so
Roycrofty."
"It is very long," said the barber with a wistful expression.
"I like it very long," said Frisbee. "I like to have people come
up to me on the street and call me Mr. Sutherland and ask me how
I left my sisters? I like to be mistaken for a Russian pianist.
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