d be taken--later in
the week--the result of which would probably be to render that young
hairdresser prematurely bald. But, meanwhile, beyond skating round and
round them, for which they did not even feel they wanted to thank him,
the German officer could do nothing for them. They tried being rude to
the hairdresser: he mistook it for American _chic_. They tried joining
hands and running away from him, but they were not good skaters, and he
thought they were trying to show him the cake walk. They both fell down
and hurt themselves, and it is difficult to be angry with a man, even a
hairdresser, when he is doing his best to pick you up and comfort you.

The chaperon was worse than useless. She was very old. She had been
promised her breakfast, but saw no signs of it. She could not speak
German; and remembered somewhat late in the day that two young ladies had
no business to accept breakfast at the hands of German officers: and, if
they did, at least they might see that they got it. She appeared to be
willing to talk about decadence of modern manners to almost any extent,
but the subject of the hairdresser, and how to get rid of him, only bored
her.

Their first stroke of luck occurred when the hairdresser, showing them
the "dropped three," fell down and temporarily stunned himself. It was
not kind of them, but they were desperate. They flew for the bank just
anyhow, and, scrambling over the grass, gained the restaurant. The
officer, overtaking them at the door, led them to the table that had been
reserved for them, then hastened back to hunt for the chaperon. The
girls thought their trouble was over. Had they glanced behind them their
joy would have been shorter-lived than even was the case. The
hairdresser had recovered consciousness in time to see them waddling over
the grass. He thought they were running to fetch him brandy. When the
officer returned with the chaperon he found the hairdresser sitting
opposite to them, explaining that he really was not hurt, and suggesting
that, as they were there, perhaps they would like something to eat and
drink.

The girls made one last frantic appeal to the man of buckram and
pipeclay, but the etiquette of the Saxon Army was inexorable. It
transpired that he might kill the hairdresser, but nothing else: he must
not speak to him--not even explain to the poor devil why it was that he
was being killed.

Her path of Usefulness.

It did not seem quite wort