Mrs. Reed looked sharply at them. Had Charles done something that had escaped her all-sided vision and was his father going to take him to task? Or was there a conspiracy? "What do you want him for?" she inquired sharply. "Oh, I thought we'd walk down the street." "Smoking a cigar, of course," as Mr. Reed took one out of his case. "It certainly won't be your fault if the child hasn't every bad tendency under the sun. I've done _my_ best. And you know smoking is a vile habit." Mr. Reed had long ago learned the wisdom of silence, which was even better than a soft answer. Charles put on a pinafore that hung in the kitchen closet. He could dry dishes beautifully. "You've been cutting behind on stages," said his mother. "Some one has told your father." "No, I haven't. Upon my word and honor." "That's next to swearing, John Robert Charles. How often have I told you these little things lead to confirmed bad habits." John Robert Charles was silent. "Well, you've done something. And if your father does once take you in hand----" The boy trembled. This awful threat had been held over him for years. Nothing _had_ come of it, so it couldn't as yet be compared to Mrs. Joe Gargery's "rampage." Mr. Reed sat comfortably on the front stoop smoking and reading. The wind drove the smoke straight down the street, and not into the house. How it could get in with the windows shut down was a mystery, but it seemed to sometimes. Charles brushed his hair and washed his hands. "I _must_ cut your hair. I ought to do it this very night, tired as I am. Now brush your clothes and go out to your father. I'll be thinking up what I want. Pepper is one thing. Go down to the old man's and get some horseradish. If there is anything else I'll come out and tell you." Charles went reluctantly out to the front stoop. "Hillo!" said his father cheerfully. "You through?" That did not sound very threatening. "We are to get pepper and horseradish." Mr. Reed nodded, folded his paper and, slipping it into his pocket, settled his hat. "Mother may think of something else." She positively couldn't. She considered that it saved time to do errands when you were going out, and she spent a great deal of time trying to think how to save it. They walked down First Avenue past Houston Street. Almost at the end of the next block there was a barber-pole with its stripes running round. The barber-pole and the Indian at the cigar shops were features of that day, as well. "Wouldn't you like to have your hair cut, Charles?" inquired his father. The world swam round so that Charles was minded to clutch the barber-pole, but he bethought himself in time that it was dusty. He looked at his father in amaze. "Oh, don't be a ninny! No one will take your head off. Come, you're big enough boy to go to the barber's."