SITTING IN THE BARBER'S CHAIR


Once every ten weeks or so we get our hair cut.

We are not generally parsimonious of our employer's time, but somehow we
do hate to squander that thirty-three minutes, which is the exact
chronicide involved in despoiling our skull of a ten weeks' garner. If
we were to have our hair cut at the end of eight weeks the shearing
would take only thirty-one minutes; but we can never bring ourselves to
rob our employer of that much time until we reckon he is really losing
prestige by our unkempt appearance. Of course, we believe in having our
hair cut during office hours. That is the only device we know to make
the hateful operation tolerable.

To the times mentioned above should be added fifteen seconds, which is
the slice of eternity needed to trim, prune and chasten our mustache,
which is not a large group of foliage.

We knew a traveling man who never got his hair cut except when he was on
the road, which permitted him to include the transaction in his expense
account; but somehow it seems to us more ethical to steal time than to
steal money.

We like to view this whole matter in a philosophical and ultra-pragmatic
way. Some observers have hazarded that our postponement of haircuts is
due to mere lethargy and inertia, but that is not so. Every time we get