Customers became scarce, wearing out their patience
and their wigs together; the shop became dirty, and winter saw the flies
of summer scattered on his show-board.
Agnes Flirtitz was the prettiest girl in Stocksbawler. Her eyes were as
blue as a summer's sky, her cheeks as rosy as an autumn sunset, and her
teeth as white as winter's snow. Her hair was a beautiful flaxen--not a
_drab_--but that peculiar sevenpenny-moist-sugar tint which the poets of
old were wont to call golden. Her voice was melodious; her notes in _alt_
were equal to Grisi's: in short, she would have been a very desirable,
loveable young lady, if she had not been a coquette.
Hans met her at a festival given in commemoration of the demise of the
burgomaster's second wife--I beg pardon, I mean in celebration of his
union with his third bride. From that day Hans was a lost barber.
Sleeping, waking, shaving, curling, weaving, or powdering, he thought of
nothing but Agnes. His love-dreams placed him in all kinds of awkward
predicaments. And Agnes--what thought she of the unhappy barber? Nothing,
except that he was a presumptuous puppy, and wore very unfashionable
garments. Hans received an intimation of this latter opinion; and, after
sundry quailings and misgivings, he resolved to dispose of his remaining
stock in trade, and, for once, dress like a gentleman.
Pages:
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38