_The B.C._ (_weakly thinking to propitiate by making light of his
infirmity_). Well, there isn't much _on_, is there?

_The S.A._ (_taking a mean advantage_). Well, Sir, it wouldn't be
a very long job numberin' all the 'airs on _your_ 'ed, cert'nly!
(_Severely, as one reproaching him for carelessness_.) You _'ave_ been
losin' your 'air! Puts me in mind of what the poet says in _'Amlet_.
"Oh, what a fallin' off!" if you'll excuse _me_, Sir!

_The B.C._ (_with a sensitive squirm_). Oh, don't apologise--I'm
_used_ to it, you know!

_The S.A._ Ah, Sir, they do say the wind's tempered to the shorn lamb
so as he can't see 'imself as other's see 'im. But what _you_ ought
to 'ave is a little toopy. Make 'em so as you couldn't tell it from
natural 'air nowadays!

[_The Bald Customer feebly declines this meretricious
adornment._

_The Loq. Ass._ (_to his subject_). Know Mr. PARIS PATTERTON of the
Proscenium Theatre, Sir? 'E's 'ad to call in our Guv'nor, Sir. 'Is
'air's comin, off, Sir, dreadful, Sir. The Guv'nor's been tryin' a noo
wash on his 'ed.

_The Gr. C._ Ha, poor beggar! Wash doing it any good?

_The Loq. Ass._ (_demurely_). That I can't tell you, Sir; but it 'as a
very agreeable perfùme.