It strikes me an idiot asylum is the proper place for you." I dismally tore my curl-papers out of my hair and went on with my work till the blessed hour of release came.
Then I hied straight to the nearest barber.
"I want my hair as short as you can cut it," said I.
"Very good, sir; we can give you the county crop, if you like." "Is that the shortest you do ?" inquired I, not knowing what the "county crop" was.
"Well, sir, we ain't asked to take more off as a rule, unless it is a clean shave you want." "No, the county crop will do," said I.
And, to do the barber justice, I got it.

I barely knew myself in the glass when the operation was over.

I had some misgivings as to the remarks of Evans & Company in the morning--at any rate, they wouldn't curl my hair any more.
Miss Bousfield and Miss Steele regarded me with something like dismay when they saw me, but were polite enough to make no remark beyond giving me permission to wear my hat if I felt a draught.
"Miss Steele has been telling me of your plan of work," said Miss Bousfield; "and I fully approve, on the understanding you are serious about it.

I am not so sanguine as Miss Steele is; still, I do not wish to discourage you, Jones.

But understand, it means a year's hard work." I assured her I was prepared for any amount of work, and Miss Steele, whose ambition was as keenly aroused as mine, gave a general promise on my behalf that I would work like a horse.
"Now," said she, when Miss Bousfield had left us, "you're in for it, Jones.