 | Life and sayings of Mrs. Partington and others
of the family |  |
DID IT HURT YOU MUCH?
Whilom there did dwell a barber in one of the most
populous streets of this city, the hues of whose insignia
by the street door, red and white, were typical often of
his customer's chins as they came under his professional
hand. Suds was a little fellow, but many a huge six-footer
did he have, unresisting, by the nose, and many a
fierce eye quailed beneath the gleam of that blade whose
edge so many had keenly felt. It was a sublime spectacle
to behold him while enjoying his momentary triumph,
— his face absolutely shiny between the combined
influence of sweat and exultation, — his razor, urged by
the fervor of his excitation, whirling through seas of
snowy lather with the rapidity of thought, — his customer,
meanwhile, with eyes shut, and breath suspended, awaiting
tremblingly the blow that should send him forth
noseless, a scoff and a reproach among men; though,
thanks to mighty science, such calamity seldom happened.
A farmer, who resided in the vicinity of the city, and
supplied the people thereof with fruit, was excessively
annoyed by the boys, who would climb upon his wagon
and bite his apples, while inquiring the price, and pretending
a desire to purchase. He took a big and fearful
oath, one day, — he was a very crabbed man, — that the
first boy who that day took a bite should likewise take a
cut with it; he swore it on his whip!
He jogged on undisturbed; the urchins read “whip-lash”
in his demeanor, and judiciously gave him a wide
berth. But Fate, that generally has to bear the odium
of causing all evil, — that by many is deemed a sort of
subordinate Providence, who, in conjunction with Luck,
another genius of the same kidney, takes the destiny of
men to work out by the job, — pulled the reins directly
opposite the barber's door.
Now, Mrs. Suds had that very day charged Mr. S. to
procure some fruit, — she did “long so to eat an apple,”
— and he, as he was looking out of his window, his last
customer having departed, was minded of her request, as
the wagon, with its rich and tempting load, stopped
within the range of his vision. He was fond of apples
himself, and, running hastily out, he stepped upon the
wagon wheel, took up an apple, and bit it, and at the
same time inquired the price.
Fatal bite! — to Suds fatal as the first bite in Paradise
was to Adam. A whistling sound he heard in the
air, and then the whip, stinging with the malignity of
concentrated spite, fell quick upon his unguarded shoulders,
to his deep shame, and astonishment, and pain.
Jumping down as quick as he could, he stood on the
pavement, an injured and indignant man, and fiercely
demanded the cause of the outrage.
The farmer had mistaken him for a boy, and, profuse
of apology, endeavored to appease the little lion of the
brush by stating his annoyance by the boys, to say
nothing of his loss by biters, and his determination to
put a stop to it by the summary means he had given
Suds a taste of. Suds was a reasonable man, and admitted
shrugged his shoulders with the remembered pain, and
they parted on as good terms as the circumstances would
admit of.
Unfortunately for the peace of the little man, a neighbor,
who loved to stir up Suds, had seen the castigation,
and each day as he came to be shaved would he ask
with the tenderest solicitude, “Did it hurt you much?”
— always after shaving, however; for his nose would
certainly have been in the way during the agitation the
question produced, had he asked it before. That question,
so sneeringly asked! Human nature could n't stand it,
patience could n't stand it, Suds could n't stand it; and
that question was a declaration of war with all who put
it to him. Continual dropping will wear a stone.
One day Suds was splitting wood in the back yard,
— like a dentist working away among the old stumps, —
fretting at the unrivable tenacity with which they held
together, when, sticking his axe into one apparently
on the point of yielding, he swung it above his head to
bring it down upon a block, and thus force the axe
effectively through the tough fibres. The axe, with the
wood adhering, was raised aloft, — the blow was about to
be struck, but, slipping from the iron, the block took
another direction, and fell heavily upon the hatless poll
of the unfortunate barber.
His wife had seen the whole proceeding from the
window, and, rushing out to ascertain the extent of the
damage, she anxiously inquired, “Mr. Suds, did it
hurt you much?” To say that fire flashed from his
eyes would be inadequate, — chain-lightning alone could
small thunderbolt like a billet of wood darted upon the
wings of a fierce anathema at her devoted head. She
dodged the missile, and a smashed window remained a
monument of his passion.
Poor Suds! he soon removed from that locality, and
the little shop where he shaved, and sheared, and suffered
is obliterated by the huge granite piles that indicate
the progressiveness of commerce.
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