diligently with his thumb.

"That's the part the doctor always listened to whenever I had a cold,"
I replied as indifferently as possible. The man pondered over this for
a moment.

"Well," he replied at length, "probably the doctor was right, but to
the impartial observer it would seem to be, as my friend Tony so
accurately observed, the bottom part of your neck."

"It really doesn't matter much after all," I replied, hoping to close
the conversation. "You all were not sent here to establish the
location of the different parts of my anatomy, anyway."

The man appeared not to have heard me. "I'd swear," he murmured
musingly, standing back and regarding me with tilted head, "I'd swear
it was his neck if it warn't for his arms." He suddenly discontinued
his dreamy observations and became all business.

"Well, sir," he began briskly, "now that we've settled that what do
you want me to do to it?"

"Why, shave it, of course," I replied bitterly. "That's what you're
here for, isn't it? All us Show Girls have got to have our chests
shaved."

"An' after I've shaved your chest, dear," he asked in a soothing
voice, "what do you want me to do with it?"

"With what?" I replied, enraged, "with my chest?"

"No," he answered easily, "not your chest, but that one poor little
pitiful hair that adorns it. Do you want me to send it home to your
ma, all tied around with a pink ribbon?"

I saw no reason to reply to this insult, but stood uneasily and tried
to maintain my dignity while he lathered me with undue elaboration.
When it was time for him to produce his razor he faltered.

"I can't do it," he said brokenly, "I haven't the heart to cut it down

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