shampoo. Boys wheeled about
miraculous electrical massage-machines. The barbers snatched
steaming towels from a machine like a howitzer of polished nickel and
disdainfully flung them away after a second's use. On the vast marble
shelf facing the chairs were hundreds of tonics, amber and ruby and
emerald. It was flattering to Babbitt to have two personal slaves at
once--the barber and the bootblack. He would have been completely happy
if he could also have had the manicure girl. The barber snipped at his
hair and asked his opinion of the Havre de Grace races, the baseball
season, and Mayor Prout. The young negro bootblack hummed "The Camp
Meeting Blues" and polished in rhythm to his tune, drawing the shiny
shoe-rag so taut at each stroke that it snapped like a banjo string.
The barber was an excellent salesman. He made Babbitt feel rich and
important by his manner of inquiring, "What is your favorite tonic, sir?
Have you time to-day, sir, for a facial massage? Your scalp is a little
tight; shall I give you a scalp massage?"

Babbitt's best thrill was in the shampoo. The barber made his hair
creamy with thick soap, then (as Babbitt bent over the bowl, muffled in
towels) drenched it with hot water which prickled along his scalp, and
at last ran the water ice-cold. At the shock, the sudden burning cold on
his skull, Babbitt's heart thumped, his chest heaved, and his spine was
an electric wire. It was a sensation which broke the monotony of life.
He looked grandly about the shop as he sat up. The barber obsequiously
rubbed his wet hair and bound it in a towel as in a turban, so that
Babbitt resembled a plump pink calif on an ingenious and adjustable
throne. The barber begged (in the manner of one who was a good fellow
yet was overwhelmed by the splendors of the calif), "How about a little
Eldorado Oil Rub, sir? Very beneficial to the scalp, sir. Didn't I give
you one the last time?"

He hadn't, but Babbitt agreed, "Well, all right."

With quaking eagerness he saw that his manicure girl was free.

"I don't know, I guess I'll have a manicure after all," he droned, and
excitedly watched her coming, dark-haired, smiling, tender, little. The
manicuring would have to be finished at her table, and he would be able
to talk to her without the barber listening. He waited contentedly, not
trying to peep at her, while she filed his nails and the barber shaved
him and smeared on his burning cheeks all the interesting mixtures which