Miss Sprunt placed the backs of her hands on her hips and cocked her head at the clock. "Good morning, Mr. Barker; you're on time to the minute." Mr. Barker removed his black-and-white checked cap, deposited three morning editions of evening papers atop a small glass case devoted to the display of Madame Dupont's beautifying cold-creams and marvelous cocoa-butters, and rubbed his hands swiftly together as if generating a spark. A large diamond mounted in a cruelly stretched lion's mouth glinted on Mr. Barker's left hand; a sister stone glowed like an acetylene lamp from his scarf. "On time, eh! Leave it to your Uncle Fuller to be on time for the big show--a pretty goil can drag me from the hay quicker'n anything I know of." Miss Gertrude quirked the corner of one eye at Miss Ethyl in a scarcely perceptible wink and filled a glass bowl with warm water. "That's one thing I will say for my regular customers--they never keep me waiting; that is the beauty of having a high-class trade." She glanced at Mr. Barker with pleasing insinuation, and they seated themselves _vis-a-vis_ at the little table. Miss Sprunt surrounded herself with the implements of her craft--small porcelain jars of pink and white cold-creams, cakes of powder in varying degrees of pinkness, vials of opaque liquids, graduated series of files and scissors, large and small chamois-covered buffers, and last the round glass bowl of tepid water cloudy with melting soap. Mr. Barker extended his large hand upon the little cushion and sighed in satisfaction. "Go to it, sis--gimme a shine like a wind-shield." She rested his four heavy fingers lightly in her palm. "You really don't need a manicure, Mr. Barker; your hands keep the shine better than most." "Well, I'll be hanged--tryin' to learn your Uncle Fuller when to have his own hands polished! Can you beat it?" Mr. Barker's steel-blue shaved face widened to a broad grin. "Say, you're a goil after my own heart--a regular little sixty-horse-power queen." "I wasn't born yesterday, Mr. Barker." "I know you wasn't, but you can't bluff me off, kiddo. You don't need to give me no high-power shine if you don't want to, but I've got one dollar and forty minutes' worth of your time cornered, just the samey." Miss Sprunt dipped his hands into tepid water. "I knew what I said would not frighten you off, Mr. Barker. I wouldn't have said it if I thought it would." Mr. Barker guffawed with gusto. "Can you beat the wimmin?" he cried. "Can you beat the wimmin?" "You want a high pink finish, don't you, Mr. Barker?" "Go as far as you like, sis; give 'em to me as pink and shiny as a baby's heel." Miss Sprunt gouged out a finger-tip of pink cream and applied it lightly to the several members of his right hand. Her touch was sure and swift. He regarded her with frankly admiring eyes. "You're some little goil," he said; "you can tell me what I want better than I know myself."