Part 26 (1/2)

He shook his head mutinously, and the cloudy deeps of his eyes grew more cloudy. She loved that sullen handsomeness that made him look so boyish, and, laughing and kissing him, she forced him into a chair, got off his coat, and unb.u.t.toned s.h.i.+rt and unders.h.i.+rt and turned them in.

Threatening him with, ”If you open your mouth to kick I'll shove it in,”

she coated his face with lather.

”Wait a minute,” she checked him, as he reached desperately for the razor. ”I've been watching the barbers from the sidewalk. This is what they do after the lather is on.”

And thereupon she proceeded to rub the lather in with her fingers.

”There,” she said, when she had coated his face a second time. ”You're ready to begin. Only remember, I'm not always going to do this for you.

I'm just breaking you in, you see.”

With great outward show of rebellion, half genuine, half facetious, he made several tentative sc.r.a.pes with the razor. He winced violently, and violently exclaimed:

”Holy jumping Jehosaphat!”

He examined his face in the gla.s.s, and a streak of blood showed in the midst of the lather.

”Cut!--by a safety razor, by G.o.d! Sure, men swear by it. Can't blame 'em. Cut! By a safety!”

”But wait a second,” Saxon pleaded. ”They have to be regulated. The clerk told me. See those little screws. There.... That's it... turn them around.”

Again Billy applied the blade to his face. After a couple of sc.r.a.pes, he looked at himself closely in the mirror, grinned, and went on shaving.

With swiftness and dexterity he sc.r.a.ped his face clean of lather. Saxon clapped her hands.

”Fine,” Billy approved. ”Great! Here. Give me your hand. See what a good job it made.”

He started to rub her hand against his cheek. Saxon jerked away with a little cry of disappointment, then examined him closely.

”It hasn't shaved at all,” she said.

”It's a fake, that's what it is. It cuts the hide, but not the hair. Me for the barber.”

But Saxon was persistent.

”You haven't given it a fair trial yet. It was regulated too much. Let me try my hand at it. There, that's it, betwixt and between. Now, lather again and try it.”

This time the unmistakable sand-papery sound of hair-severing could be heard.

”How is it?” she fluttered anxiously.

”It gets the--ouch!--hair,” Billy grunted, frowning and making faces.

”But it--gee!--say!--ouch!--pulls like Sam Hill.”

”Stay with it,” she encouraged. ”Don't give up the s.h.i.+p, big Injun with a scalplock. Remember what Bert says and be the last of the Mohegans.”

At the end of fifteen minutes he rinsed his face and dried it, sighing with relief.

”It's a shave, in a fas.h.i.+on, Saxon, but I can't say I'm stuck on it. It takes out the nerve. I'm as weak as a cat.”