When appealed to by Marlowe, Jacob understood that the details of the
disguise were left to his judgment. He raised his candle, and took a
good look at his customer. Then he dove under a heap of clothing on
the floor, and fished out a dirty sailor's dress. "Try it on," he
said.

"I don't know about that," said Marlowe, hesitating. "I don't know any
sailor's lingo."

"That's no matter. You can say, 'shiver 'my timbers,' can't you?"

"Yes, I can do that."

"That's enough. It's all I know myself. But it won't do any harm to pick
up something else; the police won't never think of you as a sailor."

"I don't know but you're right, Jacob, shiver my timbers if I don't!"
and he laughed as he used the expression.

"Try it on. I guess it'll be about right," said the old man.

Marlowe quickly stripped off the suit he wore, and arrayed himself in
the strange and unfamiliar garb presented. By good luck it had
originally been made for a man of about his size, and there was no
discrepancy likely to excite suspicion.

"Let me look at myself," said he.

Jacob produced a small cracked glass, and the ex-burglar surveyed his
transformed figure.

"What do you think of it?" asked the dealer.

"The dress is well enough, but they'll know my face."

"Sit down."

"What for?"

"I must cut your hair."

"What then?"

"I'll give you a red wig. There's nothing will disguise you so quick
as different colored hair."

"Have you got a wig?"

"Yes, here it is."

"It's ugly enough."

"Better wear it than your own hair at Sing Sing."

"That's where you're right, old man! Go ahead. You understand your
business. I'll put myself in your hands."

Marlowe sat down in a wooden chair with a broken back, and the old man
proceeded, with trembling hands, to cut his black locks with a pair of
large shears, which he kept for this and other purposes.

"You're cutting it pretty close, Jacob. I shall look like a
scarecrow."

"All the better," said the old man, laconically.

When the operation was over, Marlowe surveyed his closely-cropped head
in the cracked mirror with some disgust.

"You've made a beauty of me," he said. "However, it had to be done.
Now where's that wig?"

He was adjusting it awkwardly, when Jacob took it from his hands and
put it on properly.

"Now look at yourself," he said.

Marlowe did look, and, as the old man had predicted, found his looks
so transformed that he hardly knew himself.

"That's good," he