"Ah, I should think so! No one knows what I've suffered! And now," added Titmouse, suddenly, "that I'm—I suppose you've heard it all, sir?—what's in the wind—and all that?"
"Yes, sir—Mr. Gammon (that most respectable gentleman) and I have had a long talk yesterday about you, in which he did certainly tell me everything—nothing like confidence, Mr. Titmouse, when gentleman meets gentleman, you know! Oh, Lord! the news is really delightful! delightful!"
"Isn't it, sir?" eagerly interrupted Titmouse, his eyes glistening with sudden rapture.
"Ah! ten thous—I must shake hands with you, my dear Mr. Titmouse;" quoth Tag-rag, with affectionate excitement—and, for the first time in their lives, their hands touched, Tag-rag squeezing that of Titmouse with energetic cordiality; while he added, with a little emotion in his tone—"Thomas Tag-rag may be a plain-spoken and wrong-headed man, Mr. Titmouse—but he's a warm heart, I assure you!"
"And did Mr. Gammon tell you all, sir?" eagerly interrupted Titmouse.
"Everything—everything; quite confidential, I assure you, for he saw the interest I felt in you!"
"And did he say about my—hem!—eh? my stopping a few weeks longer with you?" inquired Titmouse, chagrin overspreading his features.
"I think he did, indeed, Mr. Titmouse! He's quite bent on it, sir! And so would any true friend of yours be—because you see!"—here he dropped his voice, and looked very mysteriously at Titmouse—"in short I quite agree with Mr. Gammon!"
"Do you indeed, sir?" exclaimed Titmouse, with rather an uneasy look.
"I do, i' faith! Why, they'd give thousands and thousands to get you out of the way—and what's money to them? But they must look very sharp that get at you in the premises of Thomas Tag-rag, I warrant 'em!—Talking of that, ah, ha!—it will be a funny thing to see you, Mr. Titmouse—Squire Titmouse—ah, ha, ha!"
"You won't hardly expect me to go out with goods, I suppose, sir?" inquired Titmouse, somewhat anxiously.
"Ha, ha, ha!—Ha, ha, ha!—Might as well ask me if I'd clean that beast Lutestring's shoes! No, no, my dear Mr. Titmouse, you and I have done with each other as master and servant; it's only as friends that we know each other now!—You may say and do whatever you like, and come and go when and where you like!—It's true it will make my other hands rather jealous, and get me into trouble; but what do I care? Suppose they do all give me warning for your sake? Let 'em go, say I!" He snapped his fingers with an air of defiance. "Your looks and manners would keep a shop full of customers—one Titmouse is worth a hundred of them."
"'Pon my soul, you speak most uncommon gentleman-like, sir, certainly!" said Titmouse, with a little excitement—"and if you'd only always—but that's all past and gone; and I've no objections to say at once, that all the articles I may want in your line I'll have at your establishment, pay cash down, and ask for no discount. And I'll send all my friends, for, in course, sir, you know I shall have lots of them!"
"Don't forget your oldest, your truest, your humblest friend, Mr. Titmouse," said Tag-rag, with a cringing air.
"That I won't!" replied Titmouse, heatedly.
[It flashed across his mind that a true and old friend would be only too happy to do him some such trifling service as to lend him a ten-pound note.]
"Hem!—Now, are you such a friend, Mr. Tag-rag?" cried he, sheepishly.
"Am I?—Can you doubt me? Try me! See what I would not do for you! Friend, indeed!" and he looked quite fondly at Titmouse.
"Well, I believe you; sir! And the fact is, a—a—a—you see, Mr. Tag-rag, though all this heap of money's coming to me, I'm precious low just now"–
"Ye—e—e—s, Mr. Titmouse," quoth Tag-rag, anxiously; his dull gray eye fixed on that of Titmouse steadfastly.
"Well—if you've a mind to prove your words, Mr. Tag-rag, and don't mind advancing me a ten-pound note"–
"Hem!" involuntarily uttered Tag-rag, so suddenly and violently, that it made Titmouse start. Then Tag-rag's face flushed over; he twirled about his watch-key rapidly, and wriggled about in his chair with visible agitation.
"Oh, you aren't going to do it! If so, you'd better say it at once," quoth Titmouse, rather cavalierly.
"Why—was ever anything so unfortunate?" stammered Tag-rag. "That cursed lot of French goods I bought only yesterday, to be paid for this very morning—and it will drain me of every penny!"
"Ah—yes! True! Well, it don't much signify," said Titmouse, carelessly, running his hand through his bushy hair. "In fact, I needn't have bothered an old friend at all, now I think of it—Mr. Gammon says he's my banker to any amount. I beg pardon, I'm sure"–
Tag-rag was in a horrid dilemma. He felt so flustered by the suddenness and seriousness of the thing, that he could not see his way plain in any direction.
"Let me see," at length he stammered; and pulling a ready-reckoner out of his pocket, he affected to be consulting it, as if to ascertain merely the state of his banker's account, but really desiring a few moments' time to collect his thoughts. 'Twas in vain, however; nothing occurred to him; he saw no way of escape; his old friend the devil deserted him for a moment—supplying him with no ready lie to meet the exigency. He must, he feared, cash up! "Well," said he—"it certainly is rather unfortunate, just at this precise moment; but I'll step to the shop, and see how my ready-money matters stand. It sha'n't be a trifle, Mr. Titmouse, that shall stand between us. But—if I should be hard run—perhaps—eh? Would a five-pound note do?"
"Why—a—a—certainly, if it wouldn't suit you to advance the ten"–
"I dare say," interrupted Tag-rag, a trifle relieved, "I shall be able to accommodate you so far. Perhaps you'll step on to the shop presently, and then we can talk over matters!—By the way, did you ever see anything so odd? forgot the main thing! Do come and take your mutton with me at Clapham next Sunday—my womankind will be quite delighted. Nay, 'tis their invitation—ha, ha!"
"You're uncommon polite," replied Titmouse, coloring with pleasure. Here seemed the first pale primrose of the coming spring—an invitation to Satin Lodge!
"The politeness—the favor—will be yours, Mr. Titmouse! I'm uncommon proud of your coming! We shall be quite alone! have you all to ourselves; only me, my wife, and daughter—an only child, Mr. Titmouse—such a child! She's really often said to me, 'I wonder'—but,– I won't make you vain, eh? Shall I call it a fixture?"
"'Pon my life, Mr. Tag-rag, you're monstrous uncommon polite. It's true, I was going to dine with Mr. Gammon"–
"Oh! pho! (I mean no disrespect, mind!) he's only a bachelor—I've got ladies in the case, and all that—eh, Mr. Titmouse? and a young one!"
"Well, thank you, sir. Since you're so pressing"–
"That's it! An engagement, poz!—Satin Lodge—for Sunday next," said Tag-rag, rising and looking at his watch. "Time for me to be off. See you soon at the shop? Soon arrange that little matter of business, eh? You understand? Good-by! good-by!" and shaking Titmouse cordially by the hand, Tag-rag took his departure. As he hurried on to his shop, he felt in a most painful perplexity about this loan of five pounds. It was truly like squeezing five drops of blood out of his heart. But what was to be done? Could he offend Titmouse? Where was he to stop, if he once began? Dare he ask for security? Suppose the whole affair should after all turn into smoke?
Now, consider the folly of Tag-rag. Here was he in all this terrible pucker about advancing five pounds on the strength of prospects and chances which he had deemed safe for adventuring his daughter upon—her, the only object on earth, except money, that he regarded with anything like sincere affection. How was this? The splendor of the future possible good fortune of his daughter, might, perhaps, have dazzled and confused his perceptions. Then, again, that was a remote contingent venture; but this sudden appeal to his pocket—the demand of an immediate outlay and venture—was an instant pressure, and he felt it severely. Immediate profit was everything to Tag-rag—'twas his very life's blood! He was, in truth, a tradesman to his heart's core. If he could have seen the immediate quid pro quo, or could, at all events, have got, if only by way of earnest, as it were, a bit of poor Titmouse's heart, and locked it up in his desk, he would not have cared so much; it would have been a little in his line;—but here was a Five-Pound Note going out forthwith, and nothing immediate, visible, palpable, replacing it. Oh! Titmouse had unconsciously pulled Tag-rag's very heart-strings!
Observe, discriminating reader, that there is all the difference in the world between a Tradesman and a Merchant; and, moreover, that it is not every tradesman that is a Tag-rag.
All these considerations combined to keep Tag-rag in a perfect fever of doubt and anxiety, which several hearty curses (I regret to say) failed in effectually relieving. By the time, however, that Titmouse had made his appearance at Mr. Tag-rag's shop, with a sufficiently sheepish air, and was beginning to run the gantlet of grinning contempt from the "gents" on each side of the shop, Tag-rag had determined on the course he should pursue in the very embarrassing matter above referred to. To the inexpressible amazement of all present, he bolted out of a little counting-house or side-room, hastened to meet Titmouse with outstretched hand and cordial speech, drew him into his little room, and shut the door. There Tag-rag informed his flurried young friend that he had made arrangements (with a little inconvenience, which, however, between friends, signified nothing) for lending Titmouse five pounds.
"And, as life's uncertain, my dear Mr. Titmouse," said Tag-rag, as Titmouse, with ill-disguised ecstasy, put the five-pound note into his pocket—"even between the dearest friends—eh? Understand? It's not you I fear, nor you me, because we've confidence in each other. But if anything should happen, those we leave behind us"– Here he took out of his desk an "I. O. U. £5," ready drawn up and dated—"a mere slip—a word or two—is satisfaction to both of us."
"Oh yes, sir! yes, sir!—anything!" said Titmouse; and hastily taking the pen proffered him, signed his name, on which Tag-rag felt a little relieved. Lutestring was then summoned into the room, and thus (not a little to his disgust and astonishment) addressed by his imperious employer: "Mr. Lutestring, you will have the goodness to see that Mr. Titmouse, while he may do me the honor to condescend to be here, is treated by every person in my establishment with the utmost possible respect. Whoever treats this gentleman with the slightest disrespect isn't any longer a servant of mine. D' ye hear me, Mr. Lutestring?" added Tag-rag, sternly, observing a very significant glance of mingled hatred and wonder which Lutestring directed towards Titmouse. "D' ye hear me, sir?"
"Oh, yes, sir! yes, sir! your orders shall be attended to," he replied in as insolent a tone as he could venture upon, leaving the room with a half audible whistle of contempt, while a grin overspread his features. Within five minutes he had filled, the mind of every shopman in the establishment with feelings of mingled wonder, hatred, and fear towards Titmouse. What, thought they, could have happened? What was Mr. Tag-rag about? This was all of a piece with his rage at Lutestring the day before. "Cuss Titmouse! and Tag-rag too!" said or thought every one of them!
Titmouse, for the remainder of the day, felt, as may be imagined, but little at his ease; for—to say nothing of his insuperable repugnance to the discharge of any of his former duties—his uneasiness under the oppressive civilities of Mr. Tag-rag; and the evident disgust towards him entertained by his companions; many most important considerations arising out of recent and coming events—his altering circumstances—were momentarily forcing themselves upon his attention. The first of these was his hair; for Heaven seemed to have suddenly given him the long-coveted means of changing its detested hue; and the next was an eyeglass, without which, he had long felt his appearance and appointments to be painfully incomplete. Early in the afternoon, therefore, on the readily admitted plea of important business, he obtained the permission of the obsequious Mr. Tag-rag to depart for the day; and instantly directed his steps to the well-known shop of a fashionable perfumer and perruquier, in Bond Street—well-known to those, at least, who were in the habit of glancing at the enticing advertisements in the newspapers. Having watched through the window till the coast was clear, (for he felt a natural delicacy in asking for a hair-dye before people who could in an instant perceive his urgent occasion for it,) he entered the shop, where a well-dressed gentleman was sitting behind the counter reading. He was handsome; and his elaborately curled hair was of a heavenly black (so at least Titmouse considered it) which was better than a thousand printed advertisements of the celebrated fluid which formed the chief commodity there vended. Titmouse with a little hesitation, asked this gentleman what was the price of their article "for turning light hair black"—and was answered—"only seven and sixpence for the smaller-sized bottle." One was in a twinkling placed upon the counter, where it lay like a miniature mummy, swathed, as it were, in manifold advertisements. "You'll find the fullest directions within, and testimonials from the highest nobility to the wonderful efficacy of the 'Cyanochaitanthropopoion.'"[12]
"Sure it will do, sir?" inquired Titmouse, anxiously.
"Is my hair dark enough to your taste, sir?" said the gentleman, with a calm and bland manner—"because I owe it entirely to this invaluable specific."
"Do you, indeed, sir?" inquired Titmouse: adding with a sigh, "but, between ourselves, look at mine!"—and, lifting off his hat for a moment, he exhibited a great crop of bushy, carroty hair.
"Whew! rather ugly that, sir!"—exclaimed the gentleman, looking very serious—"What a curse it is to be born with such hair, isn't it?"
"'Pon my life I think so, sir!" answered Titmouse, mournfully; "and do you really say, sir, that this what's-its-name turned yours of that beautiful black?"
"Think? 'Pon my honor, sir,—certain; no mistake, I assure you! I was fretting myself into my grave about the color of my hair! Why, sir, there was a nobleman in here (I don't like to mention names) the other day, with a head that seemed as if it had been dipped into water, and then powdered with brick-dust; but—I assure you, the Cyanochaitanthropopoion was too much for it—it turned black in a very short time. You should have seen his lordship's ecstasy—[the speaker saw that Titmouse would swallow anything; so he went on with a confident air]—and in a month's time he had married a beautiful woman whom he had loved from a child, but who had vowed she could never bring herself to marry a man with such a head of hair."
"How long does it take to do all this, sir?" interrupted Titmouse, eagerly, with a beating heart.
"Sometimes two—sometimes three days. In four days' time, I'll answer for it, your most intimate friend would not know you. My wife did not know me for a long while, and wouldn't let me salute her—ha, ha!" Here another customer entered; and Titmouse, laying down the five-pound note he had squeezed out of Tag-rag, put the wonder-working bottle into his pocket, and on receiving his change, departed, bursting with eagerness to try the effects of the Cyanochaitanthropopoion. Within half an hour's time he might have been seen driving a hard bargain with a pawnbroker for a massive-looking eyeglass, upon which, as it hung suspended in the window, he had for months cast a longing eye; and he eventually purchased it (his eyesight, I need hardly say, was perfect) for only fifteen shillings. After taking a hearty dinner in a little dusky eating-house in Rupert Street, frequented by fashionable-looking foreigners, with splendid heads of curling hair and mustaches, he hastened home, eager to commence the grand experiment. Fortunately, he was undisturbed that evening. Having lit his candle, and locked his door, with tremulous fingers he opened the papers enveloping the little bottle; and glancing over their contents, got so inflamed with the numberless instances of its efficacy, detailed in brief but glowing terms—as—the "Duke of....—the Countess of....—the Earl of, &c. &c. &c. &c.—the lovely Miss–, the celebrated Sir Little Bull's-eye, (who was so gratified that he allowed his name to be used)—all of whom, from having hair of the reddest possible description, were now possessed of raven-hued locks"—that he threw down the paper, and hurriedly got the cork out of the bottle. Having turned up his coat-cuffs, he commenced the application of the Cyanochaitanthropopoion, rubbing it into his hair, eyebrows, and whiskers, with all the energy he was capable of, for upwards of half an hour. Then he read over again every syllable on the papers in which the bottle had been wrapped; and about eleven o'clock, having given sundry curious glances at the glass, got into bed, full of exciting hopes and delightful anxieties concerning the success of the great experiment he was trying. He could not sleep for several hours. He dreamed a rapturous dream—that he bowed to a gentleman with coal-black hair, whom he fancied he had seen before—and suddenly discovered that he was only looking at himself in a glass!!—This awoke him. Up he jumped—sprang to his little glass breathlessly—but ah! merciful Heavens! he almost dropped down dead! His hair was perfectly green—there could be no mistake about it. He stood staring in the glass in speechless horror, his eyes and mouth distended to their utmost, for several minutes. Then he threw himself on the bed, and felt fainting. Out he presently jumped again, in a kind of ecstasy—rubbed his hair desperately and wildly about—again looked into the glass—there it was, rougher than before; but eyebrows, whiskers, and head—all were, if anything, of a more vivid and brilliant green. Despair came over him. What had all his past troubles been to this?—what was to become of him? He got into bed again, and burst into a perspiration. Two or three times he got into and out of bed, to look at himself—on each occasion deriving only more terrible confirmation than before, of the disaster which had befallen him. After lying still for some minutes, he got out of bed, and kneeling down, tried to say his prayers; but it was in vain—and he rose half choked. It was plain he must have his head shaved, and wear a wig, which would be making an old man of him at once. Getting more and more disturbed in his mind, he dressed himself, half determined on starting off to Bond Street, and breaking every pane of glass in the shop window of the infernal impostor who had sold him the liquid which had so frightfully disfigured him. As he stood thus irresolute, he heard the step of Mrs. Squallop approaching his door, and recollected that he had ordered her to bring up his tea-kettle about that time. Having no time to take his clothes off, he thought the best thing he could do, would be, to pop into bed again, draw his nightcap down to his ears and eyebrows, pretend to be asleep, and, turning his back towards the door, have a chance of escaping the observation of his landlady. No sooner thought of, than done. Into bed he jumped, and drew the clothes over him—not aware, however, that in his hurry he had left his legs, with boots and trousers on, exposed to view—an unusual spectacle to his landlady, who had, in fact, scarcely ever known him in bed at so late an hour before. He lay as still as a mouse. Mrs. Squallop, after glancing with surprise at his legs, happening to direct her eyes towards the window, beheld a small bottle standing there—only half of whose dark contents were remaining. Oh gracious!—of course it must be poison, and Mr. Titmouse must be dead!—In a sudden fright she dropped the kettle, plucked the clothes off the trembling Titmouse, and cried out—"Oh, Mr. Titmouse! Mr. Titmouse! what have you been"–
"Well, ma'am, what the devil do you mean? How dare you"– commenced Titmouse, suddenly sitting up, and looking furiously at Mrs. Squallop. An inconceivably strange and horrid figure he looked. He had all his day clothes on; a white cotton nightcap was drawn down to his very eyes, like a man going to be hanged; his face was very pale, and his whiskers were of a bright green color.
"Lard a-mighty!" exclaimed Mrs. Squallop, faintly, the moment that this strange apparition had presented itself; and sinking on the chair, she pointed with a dismayed air to the ominous-looking object standing on the window shelf. Titmouse thence inferred that she had found out the true state of the case. "Well—isn't it an infernal shame, Mrs. Squallop?" said he, getting off the bed; and, plucking off his nightcap, he exhibited the full extent of his misfortune. "What d'ye think of that!" he exclaimed, staring wildly at her. Mrs. Squallop gave a faint shriek, turned her head aside, and motioned him away.
"I shall go mad—I shall!" cried Titmouse, tearing his green hair.
"Oh Lord!—oh Lord!" groaned Mrs. Squallop, evidently expecting him to leap upon her. Presently, however, she a little recovered her presence of mind; and Titmouse, stuttering with fury, explained to her what had taken place. As he went on, Mrs. Squallop became less and less able to control herself, and at length burst into a fit of convulsive laughter, and sat holding her hands to her fat shaking sides, and appearing likely to tumble off her chair. Titmouse was almost on the point of striking her! At length, however, the fit went off; and wiping her eyes, she expressed the greatest commiseration for him, and proposed to go down and fetch up some soft soap and flannel, and try what "a good hearty wash would do." Scarce sooner said than done—but, alas, in vain! Scrub, scrub—lather, lather, did they both; but, the instant that the soap-suds had been washed off, there was the head as green as ever!
"Oh, murder, murder! what am I to do, Mrs. Squallop?" groaned Titmouse, having taken another look at himself in the glass.
"Why—really I'd be off to a police-office, and have 'em all taken up, if as how I was you!" quoth Mrs. Squallop.
"No—See if I don't take that bottle, and make the fellow that sold it me swallow what's left—and I'll smash in his shop front besides!"
"Oh, you won't—you mustn't—not on no account! Stop at home a bit, and be quiet; it may go off with all this washing, in the course of the day. Soft soap is an uncommon strong thing for getting colors out—but—a—a—excuse me now, Mr. Titmouse"—said Mrs. Squallop, seriously—"why wasn't you satisfied with the hair God Almighty had given you? D' ye think He didn't know a deal better than you what was best for you? I'm blest if I don't think this is a judgment on you, when one comes to consider!"
"What's the use of your standing preaching to me in this way, Mrs. Squallop?" said Titmouse, first with amazement, and then with fury in his manner—"A'n't I half mad without it? Judgment or no judgment—where's the harm of my wanting black hair any more than black trousers? That a'n't your own hair, Mrs. Squallop—you're as gray as a badger underneath—'pon my soul! I've often remarked it—I have, 'pon my soul!"
"I'll tell you what, Mr. Himperance!" furiously exclaimed Mrs. Squallop, "you're a liar! And you deserve what you've got! It is a judgment, and I hope it will stick by you—so take that for your sauce, you vulgar fellow!" (snapping her fingers at him.) "Get rid of your green hair if you can! It's only carrot tops instead of carrot roots—and some likes one, some the other—ha! ha! ha!"
"I'll tell you what, Mrs. Squ"– he commenced, but she had gone, having slammed to the door behind her with all her force; and Titmouse was left alone in a half frantic state, in which he continued for nearly two hours. Once again he read over the atrocious puffs which had over-night inflated him to such a degree, and he now saw that they were all lies. This is a sample of them:
"This divine fluid (as it was enthusiastically styled to the inventor, by the lovely Duchess of Dunderwhistle) possesses the inestimable and astonishing quality of changing hair, of whatever color, to a dazzling jet-black; at the same time imparting to it a rich glossy appearance, which wonderfully contributes to the imposing tout-ensemble presented by those who use it. That well-known ornament of the circle of fashion, the young and lovely Mrs. Fitzfrippery, owned to the proprietor that to this surprising fluid it was that she was indebted for those unrivalled raven ringlets which attracted the eyes of envying and admiring crowds," and so forth.
A little farther on:—
"This exquisite effect is not in all cases produced instantaneously; much will of course depend (as the celebrated M. Dupuytren, of the Hôtel Dieu, at Paris, informed the inventor) on the physical idiosyncrasy of the party using it, with reference to the constituent particles of the coloring matter constituting the fluid in the capillary vessels. Often a single application suffices to change the most hopeless-looking head of red hair to as deep a black; but, not unfrequently, the hair passes through intermediate shades and tints—all, however, ultimately settling into a deep and permanent black."
This passage not a little revived the drooping spirits of Titmouse. Accidentally, however, an asterisk at the last word in the above sentence, directed his eye to a note at the bottom of the page, printed in such minute type as would have baffled any but the strongest sight and most determined eye to read, and which said note was the following:—
"Though cases do, undoubtedly, occasionally occur, in which the native inherent indestructible qualities of the hair defy all attempts at change or even modification, and resist even this potent remedy: of which, however, in all his experience" (the wonderful specific has been invented for about six months) "the inventor has known but very few instances."
But to this exceedingly select class of unfortunate incurables, poor Titmouse, alas! entertained a dismal suspicion that he belonged.
"Look, sir! Look! Only look here what your cussed stuff has done to my hair!" said Titmouse, on presenting himself soon after to the gentleman who had sold him the infernal liquid; and, taking off his hat, exposed his green hair. The gentleman, however, did not appear at all surprised, or discomposed.
"Ah—yes! I see—I see. You're in the intermediate stage. It differs in different people"–
"Differs, sir! I'm going mad! I look like a green monkey—Cuss me if I don't!"
"In me, now," replied the gentleman, with a matter-of-fact air, "the color was a strong yellow. But have you read the explanations that are given in the wrapper?"
"Read 'em?" echoed Titmouse, furiously—"I should think so? Much good they do me! Sir, you're a humbug!—an impostor! I'm a sight to be seen for the rest of my life! Look at me, sir! Eyebrows, whiskers, and all!"
"Rather a singular appearance, just at present, I must own," said the gentleman, his face turning suddenly red all over with the violent effort he was making to prevent an explosion of laughter. He soon, however, recovered himself, and added coolly—"If you'll only persevere"–
"Persevere be d–d!" interrupted Titmouse, violently clapping his hat on his head, "I'll teach you to persevere in taking in the public! I'll have a warrant out against you in no time!"
"Oh, my dear sir, I'm accustomed to all this!" said the gentleman, coolly.
"The—devil—you—are!" gasped Titmouse, quite aghast.
"Oh, often—often, while the liquid is performing the first stage of the change; but, in a day or two afterwards, the parties generally come back smiling into my shop, with heads as black as crows!"
"No! But really—do they, sir?" interrupted Titmouse, drawing a long breath.
"Hundreds, I may say thousands, my dear sir! And one lady gave me a picture of herself, in her black hair, to make up for her abuse of me when it was in a puce color—Fact, honor!"
"But do you recollect any one's hair turning green, and then getting black?" inquired Titmouse, with trembling anxiety.
"Recollect any? Fifty at least. For instance, there was Lord Albert Addlehead—but why should I mention names? I know hundreds! But everything is honor and confidential here!"
"And did Lord what's-his-name's hair grow green, and then black; and was it at first as light as mine?"
"His hair was redder, and in consequence it became greener, and now is blacker than ever yours will be."
"Well, if I and my landlady have this morning used an ounce, we've used a quarter of a pound of soft soap in"–
"Soft soap!—soft soap!" cried out the gentleman, with an air of sudden alarm—"That explains all," (he forgot how well it had been already explained by him.) "By Heavens, sir!—soft soap! You may have ruined your hair forever!" Titmouse opened his eyes and mouth with a start of terror, it not occurring to his astute mind that the intolerable green had preceded, not followed, the use of the soft soap. "Go home, my dear sir! God bless you—go home, as you value your hair; take this small bottle of Damascus Cream, and rub it in before it's too late; and then use the remainder of the"–
"Then you don't think it's already too late?" inquired Titmouse, faintly; and, having been assured to the contrary—having asked the price of the Damascus cream, which was "only three-and-sixpence," (stamp included)—he purchased and paid for it with a rueful air, and took his departure. He sneaked homeward along the streets with the air of a pickpocket, fearful that every one he met was an officer who had his eye on him. He was not, in fact, very far off the mark; for many a person smiled, and stared, and turned round to look at him as he went along.