University of Virginia Library

THE BARBER.

A Short Drama in One Act and One Scene.

ACT FIRST.

Scene: A Metropolitan Barber's Shop.

Dramatis Personœ: Oily, a Barber. Jones, a Customer.

Oily. Take a seat, Sir; pray take a seat.

Oily puts a chair for Jones, who sits.
During the following dialogue Oily continues
catting Jones's hair.]

Oily. We have had much wet, sir.

Jones. Very much.

Oily. And yet October'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 'twas 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 scrutinizingly at his interlocutor.]

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 more
frequent clipping of the scissors.]

Oily. Your hair is very dry, sir.

Jones. Ah!—indeed!

Oily. Yes—very dry. Our “Vegetable
Extract” moistens hair.

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 a linen wrapper, in which he has been
enveloped during the process of hair-cutting.]

Oily. We've brushes, soaps, and scents
of every kind.

Jones. I see you have. (Pays thirty
cents.) I think you'll find that
right.

Oily. Is there nothing I can show
you, sir?

Jones. No, nothing. Yes—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 rare 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.]