substitute in the way of interest in the Congo or the future of Japan.
If a man cannot love his barber whom he has seen, how shall he love
the Japanese whom he has not seen?

It is urged against the barber that he begins by talking about
the weather; so do all dukes and diplomatists, only that they talk about
it with ostentatious fatigue and indifference, whereas the barber talks
about it with an astonishing, nay incredible, freshness of interest.
It is objected to him that he tells people that they are going bald.
That is to say, his very virtues are cast up against him;
he is blamed because, being a specialist, he is a sincere specialist,
and because, being a tradesman, he is not entirely a slave.
But the only proof of such things is by example; therefore I will prove
the excellence of the conversation of barbers by a specific case.
Lest any one should accuse me of attempting to prove it by fictitious
means, I beg to say quite seriously that though I forget the exact
language employed, the following conversation between me and a human
(I trust), living barber really took place a few days ago.

. . . . .

I had been invited to some At Home to meet the Colonial Premiers,
and lest I should be mistaken for some partly reformed bush-ranger out of
the interior of Australia I went into a shop in the Strand to get shaved.
While I was undergoing the torture the man said to me:

"There seems to be a lot in the papers about this new shaving, sir.
It seems you can shave yourself with anything--with a stick or a stone
or a pole or a poker" (here I began for the first time to detect
a sarcastic intonation) "or a shovel or a----"