King of the Castle Part 40

Chris grunted, and wished he had not come to have his hair cut, as the man innocently prattled on.

"If I might take the liberty of saying so, why don't you take to a yacht?"

"Can't afford it," said Chris bluntly.

Wimble uttered a little laugh that suggested disbelief.

"They do say, sir, as this Mr Glyddyr is making up to Miss Gartram, sir."

Chris set his teeth hard. He could not jump up and run out of the place with his hair half cut.

"And that Mr Gartram is set upon it, sir. Well, it's a fine opening for any young man, I'm sure. Mr Gartram must have a deal of money up yonder. I often wonder he has never been robbed--that's it, sir. The other side, please: thank you. Stone walls and bolts and bars are all very well, but, as I said to Doctor Asher when I was cutting him the other day--If a man wants to commit a robbery, stone walls and iron bars is no use. 'No, sir,' I says, 'there's sure to be times when doors is open and iron bars undone, and those are the times that a thief and a robber would choose.'"

"Humph!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Chris. "So you think there are times when a man might easily rob Mr Gartram?"

"I do, sir, indeed; and if you'll believe me there, I wouldn't have his money and live as he does for anything."

"Ah, well, I won't believe you," said Chris drily.

"But you may, sir. Yes, sir, it isn't safe to live with so much money in your house."

"Well, I'll tell Mr Gartram what you say."

The scissors dropped on the floor with a crash, and Wimble stood, wide-eyed, and harrowing his thin whiskers with his comb.

"What's the matter?"

"I beg pardon, sir," faltered the barber; "you said--"

"That I'd tell Mr Gartram."

"I--I--I beg your pardon, Mr Lisle, sir; don't do that. Mr Gartram's my landlord--a hard man, sir, in paint and repairs; and if he knew that I'd said such a thing about him being robbed or murdered, why, I do believe, sir, he'd turn me out of house and home."

"I shouldn't wonder," said Chris gruffly. "Lesson to you to hold your tongue."

This was so decided a rebuff that Wimble frowned, picked up his scissors, and went on snipping in silence for nearly half a minute, when the desire to talk, or habit of using his jaws in concert with the opening and shutting of his scissors, mastered him again.

"If I might be so bold as ask, sir, Mrs Sarson quite well?"

"Yes, quite well."

"Most amiable woman, sir," said the barber, "Her house always seems to me as if it might take a prize--so beautifully kept, sir--so delicately clean."

"Yes."

"I often wonder she hasn't married again."

Chris had heard hints from his landlady about an offer of marriage from the owner of the museum, but it had slipped from his memory till now, when the suggestive remark brought it all back, and a mischievous spirit seemed to enter into him.

He could not find it in his heart to bully the man, whose prattling gossip was a part of his trade, but he could vex him and revenge himself in another way for the annoyance Wimble was inflicting, and with boyish love of mischief he replied--

"Yes; so do I. But perhaps it is probable."

Wimble checked his scissors as they were half-way through a tuft of hair.

"Indeed, sir?" he said, as he went on snipping. "Yes; of course you, being, as you may say, one of the family, and living on the premises, would know."

"Yes," said Chris, in a tone suggestive of much knowledge; and then there was an interval of snipping, and Wimble coughed.

"If one might say so, sir," he said, "that was a most gallant act of yours the other day."

"Eh? What was?"

"Swimming out after that handsome French lady, and saving her life."

"Pooh! Nonsense!" said Chris pettishly.

"But it was, sir. People talk about it a deal."

"More fools they."

"Yes, sir; but people will talk."

"Yes," said Chris meaningly; "they will."

"Yes, sir; and it's wonderful what a man will go through for a woman's sake--I mean a gentleman for a lady."

"You miserable little pump," muttered Chris to himself.

"Elderly gentleman, or young, sir?" said Wimble insinuatingly.

"Eh? What do you mean?"

"What you said, sir, about Mrs Sarson, sir--her future, sir."

"Oh, you mustn't ask me, Mr Wimble. It would be very much out of place for me to say anything. Done?"

"One minute, sir. Anything on, sir? Lime cream?"

"No; just a brush.--Thanks; that will do.--Good morning."

Trifling words do a great deal of mischief sometimes, and Chris Lisle's had the effect of making the owner of the museum stand at his door with his head sidewise, watching his last client till he was out of sight, and as he went down the street, dark thoughts entered his mind about age and good looks and opportunity; of the result of his own observations in life as to the weakness of elderly ladies for youth; and one by one ideas came into his mind such as had never been there before.

"If it does turn out so," he muttered, as he slowly went back into his place of business, and apostrophised the head of a huge dog-fish which had been preserved and furnished with two gla.s.s eyes, asquint, and whose drying had resulted in a peculiar one-sided smile; "yes, if it does turn out so, I hope, for his sake and mine, he will not come here to be shaved."

His thoughts had such a terrible effect upon Michael Wimble, that he took a razor from where it reposed in one of a series of leather loops against the wall, opened it, seized a leather strap which hung by one end from a table, and began to whet the implement with a degree of savage energy that was startling.

Chris had his hair cut, and his head felt easier, but the barber's did not.