STEPPING BACKWARDS 

 

     "Wonderful improvement," said Mr. Jack Mills.  "Show 'em to me again." 

     Mr. Simpson took his pipe from his mouth and, parting his lips, revealed his new teeth. 

     "And you talk better," said Mr. Mills, taking his glass from the counter and emptying it; "you ain't got that silly lisp you used to have. What does your missis think of 'em?" 

     "She hasn't seen 'em yet," said the other.  "I had 'em put in at dinner-     time. I ate my dinner with 'em." 

     Mr. Mills expressed his admiration.  "If it wasn't for your white hair and whiskers you'd look thirty again," he said, slowly.  "How old are you?" 

     "Fifty-three," said his friend.  "If it wasn't for being laughed at I've often thought of having my whiskers shaved off and my hair dyed black. People think I'm sixty." 

     "Or seventy," continued Mr. Mills.  "What does it matter, people laughing? You've got a splendid head of 'air, and it would dye beautiful." 

     Mr. Simpson shook his head and, ordering a couple of glasses of bitter, attacked his in silence. 

     "It might be done gradual," he said, after a long interval.  "It don't do anybody good at the warehouse to look old." 

     "Make a clean job of it," counselled Mr. Mills, who was very fond of a little cheap excitement.  "Get it over and done with. You've got good features, and you'd look splendid clean-shaved."  Mr. Simpson smiled faintly.  "Only on Wednesday the barmaid here was asking after you,"     pursued Mr. Mills. Mr. Simpson smiled again.  "She says to me, 'Where's Gran'pa?' she says, and when I says, haughty like, 'Who do you mean?' she says, 'Father Christmas!'  If you was to tell her that you are only fifty-three, she'd laugh in your face." 

     "Let her laugh," said the other, sourly. 

     "Come out and get it off," said Mr. Mills, earnestly.  "There's a barber's in Bird Street; you could go in the little back room, where he charges a penny more, and get it done without anybody being a bit the wiser." 

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