"
"Do you mean that all of them do that?" asked McGregor. He wasn't
upset by what had been said. It struck him as being true. For himself
he was afraid of women. It seemed to him that a road was being built
by his companion along which he might travel with safety. He wanted
the man to go on talking. Into his brain flashed the thought that if
he had the thing to do over there would have been a different ending
to the afternoon spent with the pale girl on the hillside.
The barber sat down upon the bench. The flush out of his cheeks. "Well
I have done pretty well myself," he said, "but then you know I make
violins and don't think of women. I've been in Chicago two years and
I've spent just eleven dollars. I would like to know what the average
man spends. I wish some fellow would get the facts and publish them.
It would make people sit up. There must be millions spent here every
year."
"You see I'm not very strong and I stand all day on my feet in the
barber shop." He looked at McGregor and laughed. "The black-eyed girl
in the hall is after you," he said. "You'd better look out. You let
her alone. Stick to your law books. You are not like me. You are big
and red and strong. Eleven dollars won't pay your way here in Chicago
for no two years."
McGregor looked again at the people moving toward the park entrance in
the gathering darkness.
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