Little Willy Eddy thought uneasily of his Minna, and took his departure.

The postmaster had a Sunday mail to sort.

And Amidon went out to get a drink of beer; Carroll's cigar had dried his throat.

Carroll was shaven last, and Flynn did his best by him, even unto a new jar of cold cream, double the quantity of witch-hazel, and a waste of powder.

Then after he had carefully adjusted his hat, and was at last about to go, Flynn stopped him.
"Beg your pardon, sir," said he, "but--" "But what ?" said Carroll, rather kindly.
The barber's lip was actually quivering.