middle of a silver quarter. The latter, it developed, had a hole in
it, through which he drew the strand of hair, and then wrapped it
with an angry tightness about the long projection.

At this exact moment a new girl, but tired and moist, appeared, took
a hank of white threads from a dressing-table, and tied that
separate lock firmly. This, Linda counted, was repeated fifteen
times; and when it was accomplished she was unable to repress a
nervous laughter. Really, her mother looked too queer for words: the
long rigid projections stood out all over her head like--like a huge
pincushion; no, it was a porcupine. Mrs. Condon smiled in uncertain
recognition of her daughter's mirth.

Then Linda's attention followed M. Joseph to a table against a
partition, where he secured a white cotton strip from a film of them
soaking in a shallow tray, took up some white powder on the blade of
a dessert knife and transferred it to the strip. This he wrapped and
wrapped about the hair fastened on a spindle, tied it in turn, and
dragged down one of the brown objects on wires, which, to Linda's
great astonishment, fitted precisely over the cotton-bound hair.
Again, fifteen times, M. Joseph did this, fastening each connection
with the turn of a screw. When so much was accomplished her mother's
hair, it seemed, had grown fast to the ceiling in a tangle of green
ends. It was the most terrifying spectacle Linda had ever witnessed.
Obscure thoughts of torture, of criminals executed by electricity,
froze her in a set apprehension.

The hair-dresser stepped over to the dials on the wall, and, with a
sharp comprehensive glance at his apparatus, moved a handle as far
as it would go. Nothing immediately happened, and Linda gave a