There his first care was to submit himself to the hands of
the barber who, after a glance at his client's bandaged head,
muddy clothes and shaggy beard, coughed ominously and relapsed
into a most unbarber-like reserve.
Desmond heard the cough and caught the look of commiseration on
the man's face.
"I rather think I want a shave!" he said, weakly. "I rather think
you do, sir!" replied the man, busy with his lather.
"... Had a nasty accident," murmured Desmond, "I fell down and
cut my head..."
"We're used to that here, sir," answered the barber, "but the
bath'll make you as right as, rain. W'y we 'ad a genel'man in
'ere, only lars' week it was, as 'adn't been 'ome for five days
and nights and the coat mos tore off 'is back along with a bit of
turn-up 'e'd 'at one o' them night clubs. And drunk I... w'y 'e
went to bite the rubber, so they wos tellin' me! But, bless you,
'e 'ad a nice shave and a couple of hours in the bath and a bit
of a nap; we got him his clothes as was tore mended up fine for
'im and 'e went 'ome as sober as a judge and as fresh as a
daisy!"
Desmond had it in his mind to protest against this material
interpretation of his disreputable state; but the sight in the
mirror of his ignominiously scrubby and battered appearance
silenced him.
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