"Well, sir," he presently added in a still more respectful tone than before, "p'r'aps you'll think it a liberty, sir; but, do you know, I've several times had the honor of seeing his Lordship in the street at a little distance--and there's a--a family likeness between you, sir--'pon my word, sir. It struck me, directly I saw you, that you was like some _nob_ I'd seen at the other end of the town." [Here Titmouse experienced pleasurable sensations, similar to those said to be enjoyed by a cat when you pass your hand down its glossy coat in the right direction.] "Will you allow me, sir, to give your hair a good brushing, sir, before I dress it? I always like to take the _greatest_ pains with the hair of my quality customers!--Do you know, sir, that I had the honor of dressing his Grace's hair for a whole fortnight together, once when my brother-in-law was ill; and though p'r'aps I oughtn't to say it, his Grace expressed the highest satisfaction at my exertions, sir." "'Pon my life, and _I_ should say you were an uncommon good hand--I've known lots worse, I assure you; men that would have spoiled the best head of hair going, by Jove!" "Sir, you're very kind. I assure you, sir, that to do justice to a _gent's_ hair requires an uncommon deal of practice, and a sort of _nat'ral_ talent for it besides. Lord, sir! how much depends on a gent's hair, don't it? Of two coming into a room, it makes all the difference, sir! Believe me, sir, it's no use being well-dressed, nay, nor good-looking, if as how the hair a'n't done--what I call--_correct!_" "By Jove, I really think you're nigh about the mark," said Titmouse; and after a pause, during which Mr. Twirl had been brushing away at one particular part of the head with some vehemence, "Well," he exclaimed with a sigh, ceasing for a moment his vigorous exertions--"I'm _blest_ if I can manage it, do what I will!" "Eh? What's that? What is it?" inquired Titmouse, a little alarmedly. "Why, sir, it's what we gents, in our profession, calls a _feather_, which is the most _hobstinatest_ thing in nature." "What's a _feather_?" quoth Titmouse, rather faintly. "You see, sir, 'tis when a small lot of hair on a gent's head _will_ stick up, do all we can to try and get it down; and (excuse me, sir,) _you've_ got a regular rattler!" Titmouse put up his hand to feel, Twirl guiding it to the fatal spot; there it was, just as Twirl had described it. "What's to be done?" murmured Titmouse. "I'm afraid, sir, you don't use our OSTRICH GREASE and RHINOCEROS MARROW, sir." "Your _what_?" cried Titmouse, apprehensively, with a dismally distinct recollection of the tragedy of the Cyanochaitanthropopoion, and the Damascus Cream, and the Tetaragmenon Abracadabra; matters which he at once mentioned to Mr. Twirl.