"I fancy I understand something of the business," replied the little man. "I was a perruquier myself, when wigs were more in fashion than they are now." "Ha! indeed!" said Trigge, laughing. "That must have been in the last century--in Queen Anne's time--eh?" "You have hit it exactly, sir," replied the little man. "It _was_ in Queen Anne's time." "Perhaps you recollect when wigs were first worn, my little Nestor?" cried Mr. Trigge. "Perfectly," replied the little man. "French periwigs were first worn in Charles the Second's time." "You saw 'em, of course?" cried the barber, with a sneer. "I did," replied the little man quietly. "Oh, he must be out of his mind," cried Trigge. "We shall have a commission _de lunatico_ to issue here, as the Master of the Rolls would observe." "I hope I may suit you, sir," said the little man. "I don't think you will, my friend," replied Mr. Trigge; "I don't think you will. You don't seem to have a hand for hairdressing. Are you aware of the talent the art requires? Are you aware what it has cost me to earn the enviable title of the Barber of London? I'm as proud of that title as if I were----" "Lord Chancellor!--Lord Chancellor!" screamed Mag. "Precisely, Mag," said Mr. Trigge; "as if I were Lord Chancellor." "Well, I'm sorry for it," said the little man disconsolately. "Pretty dear!" screamed Mag; "pretty dear!" "What a wonderful bird you have got!" said the sour-looking gentleman, rising and paying Mr. Trigge. "I declare its answers are quite appropriate." "Ah! Mag is a clever creature, sir--that she is," replied the barber. "I gave a good deal for her." "Little or nothing!" screamed Mag--"little or nothing!" "What is your name, friend?" said the gentleman, addressing the little man, who still lingered in the shop. "Why, sir, I've had many names in my time," he replied. "At one time I was called Flapdragon--at another, Old Parr--but my real name, I believe, is Morse--Gregory Morse." "An Old Bailey answer," cried Mr. Trigge, shaking his head. "Flapdragon, alias Old Parr--alias Gregory Morse--alias----" "Pretty dear!" screamed Mag. "And you want a place?" demanded the sour-looking gentleman, eyeing him narrowly. "Sadly," replied Morse. "Well, then, follow me," said the gentleman, "and I'll see what can be done for you." And they left the shop together. CHAPTER IX THE MOON IN THE FIRST QUARTER In spite of his resolution to the contrary, Auriol found it impossible to resist the fascination of Ebba's society, and became a daily visitor at her father's house. Mr. Thorneycroft noticed the growing attachment between them with satisfaction. His great wish was to see his daughter united to the husband of her choice, and in the hope of smoothing the way, he let Auriol understand that he should give her a considerable marriage portion.