hero of your’s this evening,” he remarked. “I hope to do a little business with him. Moggie Moorhen.”
At the name of the celebrated comedian the barber wavered and fell. A bouquet of refined noises escaped him and his sallow face warmed with pleasure.
“Are you reelly? My word, that’ll be an experience. Just the very exact same off as ’e is on, I shouldn’t wonder.”
The Major turned deliberately to Richard’s looking-glass and winked.
“I hope not,” he said dryly, “or we’ll finish the evening swinging from the Savoy lighting fixtures.”
He went out laughing and the door closed behind him.
Mr. Vick paused, towel in hand, to raise himself on his toes to see over the curtain.
“There he goes,” he remarked with feminine bitterness. “The Savoy lighting fixtures? … The Bodega more likely. He’s a very funny finger, the Major, and he’s in a very funny mood. I noticed it the moment ’e come in.”
“I t’ink,” murmured the assistant who was cutting Richard’s hair, “that he is of the po-lice.”
“Oh dear me no!” Mr. Vick tossed his head contemptuously. “You can relax, Perce. ’E’s got no interest in your papers. ’E’s a very funny fellow all the same. ’E’s been coming ’ere on and off for the last eight or nine years and I’ve never set eyes on ’im but in this shop, and I don’t know what ’e does from Adam. Not from Adam. That’s quite a record for me. You could call ’im one of my failures, reelly.”
“Mystery man,” said the sporting salesman and ran a hopeful eye down the list of starters.
“You’ve said it.” Mr. Vick dropped back on to his heels. “Charmin’ man, mind you. Never shabby. Beautiful shirt ’e was wearin’. Never grouses, which is fantastic, but talk to ’im and you might be livin’ in another world. After all this time there’s only one thing I know about ’im for certain, and that is that every now and again ’e gets up to something—puts a big deal through.” He paused. “This is one of the times.”
“How do you know?” Richard spoke involuntarily. It was so much his own impression.
Mr. Vick’s dull eyes acknowledged his existence.
“Because ’e’s in the mood,” he said confidently. “We ’airdressers get to know a lot about moods. Goin’ to an ’airdresser at all is a very moody thing. Some only ’ave a trim when they’re fed up. The Major usually comes in when ’e’s bored, but now and again—not often, mind, but sometimes—he steps in ’ere as part of a little programme ’e’s set ’imself. I can tell. I can feel ’im simmering, getting excited and above ’imself. I used to think ’e was an actor working up for a first night, but that’s not it. There’s no greasepaint in that ’airline.”
“I picked up a packet once on Greasepaint,” said the salesman. “Short back and sides, if you please, Mr. Vick, and I won’t have the old curry comb.”
The barber acknowledged the order but continued to talk thoughtfully about the previous customer.
“It amazes me I don’t know more about ’im after all this time,” he said, “but I tell you one extraordinary thing. This is the third or fourth time I’ve seen ’im do it, and no one would be more amazed than ’e’d be ’imself if you told ’im of it. Unconscious, it is. But when ’e’s in one of these off-the-’andle now-for-it sort of moods ’e’s always in a tizzy about the right time. ’E always mentions it, ’e always gets the whole shop arguin’ about it, and it’s a very funny thing but ’e nearly always picks up the man who ’asn’t got a watch.”
“Then he wasn’t lucky today,” said the salesman. “I wonder if I shall be. He’s a crook, that’s what you mean, is it?”
“No, sir, I certainly don’t.” Mr. Vick was shocked. “’E’s a regular customer. Sometimes ’e doesn’t come in for a month or two but if ’e’d been inside I should notice it at once. It takes nearly seven months to get
At the name of the celebrated comedian the barber wavered and fell. A bouquet of refined noises escaped him and his sallow face warmed with pleasure.
“Are you reelly? My word, that’ll be an experience. Just the very exact same off as ’e is on, I shouldn’t wonder.”
The Major turned deliberately to Richard’s looking-glass and winked.
“I hope not,” he said dryly, “or we’ll finish the evening swinging from the Savoy lighting fixtures.”
He went out laughing and the door closed behind him.
Mr. Vick paused, towel in hand, to raise himself on his toes to see over the curtain.
“There he goes,” he remarked with feminine bitterness. “The Savoy lighting fixtures? … The Bodega more likely. He’s a very funny finger, the Major, and he’s in a very funny mood. I noticed it the moment ’e come in.”
“I t’ink,” murmured the assistant who was cutting Richard’s hair, “that he is of the po-lice.”
“Oh dear me no!” Mr. Vick tossed his head contemptuously. “You can relax, Perce. ’E’s got no interest in your papers. ’E’s a very funny fellow all the same. ’E’s been coming ’ere on and off for the last eight or nine years and I’ve never set eyes on ’im but in this shop, and I don’t know what ’e does from Adam. Not from Adam. That’s quite a record for me. You could call ’im one of my failures, reelly.”
“Mystery man,” said the sporting salesman and ran a hopeful eye down the list of starters.
“You’ve said it.” Mr. Vick dropped back on to his heels. “Charmin’ man, mind you. Never shabby. Beautiful shirt ’e was wearin’. Never grouses, which is fantastic, but talk to ’im and you might be livin’ in another world. After all this time there’s only one thing I know about ’im for certain, and that is that every now and again ’e gets up to something—puts a big deal through.” He paused. “This is one of the times.”
“How do you know?” Richard spoke involuntarily. It was so much his own impression.
Mr. Vick’s dull eyes acknowledged his existence.
“Because ’e’s in the mood,” he said confidently. “We ’airdressers get to know a lot about moods. Goin’ to an ’airdresser at all is a very moody thing. Some only ’ave a trim when they’re fed up. The Major usually comes in when ’e’s bored, but now and again—not often, mind, but sometimes—he steps in ’ere as part of a little programme ’e’s set ’imself. I can tell. I can feel ’im simmering, getting excited and above ’imself. I used to think ’e was an actor working up for a first night, but that’s not it. There’s no greasepaint in that ’airline.”
“I picked up a packet once on Greasepaint,” said the salesman. “Short back and sides, if you please, Mr. Vick, and I won’t have the old curry comb.”
The barber acknowledged the order but continued to talk thoughtfully about the previous customer.
“It amazes me I don’t know more about ’im after all this time,” he said, “but I tell you one extraordinary thing. This is the third or fourth time I’ve seen ’im do it, and no one would be more amazed than ’e’d be ’imself if you told ’im of it. Unconscious, it is. But when ’e’s in one of these off-the-’andle now-for-it sort of moods ’e’s always in a tizzy about the right time. ’E always mentions it, ’e always gets the whole shop arguin’ about it, and it’s a very funny thing but ’e nearly always picks up the man who ’asn’t got a watch.”
“Then he wasn’t lucky today,” said the salesman. “I wonder if I shall be. He’s a crook, that’s what you mean, is it?”
“No, sir, I certainly don’t.” Mr. Vick was shocked. “’E’s a regular customer. Sometimes ’e doesn’t come in for a month or two but if ’e’d been inside I should notice it at once. It takes nearly seven months to get
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