"Very well; you may try your hand," said Mr. Romaine, picking up his paper. "There is the shaving-table."
Dad Davy tiptoed over to the shaving-table, and examined suspiciously the silver toilet articles, the spirit-lamps, scented soaps, etc., etc. Mr. Romaine, absorbed in his paper, presently heard Dad Davy, in an apologetic tone, saying:
"Marse Richard, I k'yarn do nuttin' wid dem gorgeousome things. I got some mighty good soap here, an' a new shavin'-bresh; an' ef you will jes' lem me took yo' razor—"
"All right," answered Mr. Romaine, deep in his paper.
In a few minutes Dad Davy remarked, "I 'se ready," and Mr. Romaine, lying back in his chair, shut his eyes, while Dad Davy began the lathering process. When it was about half done Mr. Romaine began sniffing suspiciously, but he could not open his mouth, Dad Davy then began with the razor, and a smoother or more luxurious shave Mr. Romaine never had in his life. As soon as he could speak, he growled:
"What infernal soap is that you 've got there?"
