o wear what face I
choose."

"You won't find it so, Cap'n."

"T'ch't! You landsmen be so fed with liberty you don't know your
privileges. If you don't like your habits, what hinders you from
changin' 'em? But _do_ you? Here I come back: here's th' old Town Quay
same as ever it was; and here likewise you all be, runnin' on as I left
'ee, like a clockwork--a bit slower with age maybe--that's all.
Whereby I conclude your ways content ye."

"You're wrong, Cap'n Cai--you're wrong. We bide by our habits--an',
more by token, here comes Mr Philp. 'Morning, Mr Philp." The barber,
without turning, nodded towards the newcomer as he entered--a short man,
aged about sixty, with a square-cut grey beard, sanguine complexion, and
blue eyes that twinkled with a deceptive appearance of humour.
"Here's Cap'n Cai Hocken, home from sea."

"Eh? I am very glad to see you, Cap'n Hocken," said Mr Philp politely.
"There's a post-card waitin' for you, up at the Office."

Captain Cai sat bolt upright of a sudden, narrowly missing a wound from
the scissors. "That will be from 'Bias! To think I hadn' sense enough
to go straight to the Post Office and inquire!"

"'Tis from your friend, sure enough," announced Mr Philp. "He paid off
his crew last Toosday, an' took his discharge an' the train down to
Plymouth. He've bought a wardrobe there--real wornut--an' 'tis comin'
round by sea. There's a plate-chest, too, he thinks you may fancy--
price thirty-five shillin secondhand: an' he hopes to reach Troy the day
after next, which by the post-mark is to-morra."

"Mr Philp," explained the barber, "calls in at the Office every mornin'
to read all the post-cards. 'Tis one of his habits."

"Recent bereavement?" asked Mr Philp, before Captain Cai could well
digest this.

"Eh?"

"Recent bereavement?" Mr Philp was examining the tall hat, which he had
picked up to make room for his own person on the customers' bench.

"That's another of his aptitoods," the barber interpolated.
"He attends all the funerals in the parish."

"In the midst o' life we are in death," observed Mr Philp. "That's a
cert, Cap'n Hocken, an' your hat put me in mind of it."

"Oh, 'tis my hat you're meanin'? What's wrong with it?"

"Did I say there was anything wrong? No, I didn't--God forbid! An' no
doubt," concluded Mr Philp cheerfully, "the fashions'll work round to it
again."

"I'll change it for another."

"You won't find that too easy, will you?" The b