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yours,' he said.
'My beard!' cried Pitman. 'I cannot shave my beard. I cannot tamper with
my appearance--my principals would object. They hold very strong views
as to the appearance of the professors--young ladies are considered so
romantic. My beard was regarded as quite a feature when I went about the
place. It was regarded,' said the artist, with rising colour, 'it was
regarded as unbecoming.'
'You can let it grow again,' returned Michael, 'and then you'll be so
precious ugly that they'll raise your salary.'
'But I don't want to be ugly,' cried the artist.
'Don't be an ass,' said Michael, who hated beards and was delighted to
destroy one. 'Off with it like a man!'
'Of course, if you insist,' said Pitman; and then he sighed, fetched
some hot water from the kitchen, and setting a glass upon his easel,
first clipped his beard with scissors and then shaved his chin. He
could not conceal from himself, as he regarded the result, that his last
claims to manhood had been sacrificed, but Michael seemed delighted.
'A new man, I declare!' he cried. 'When I give you the windowglass
spectacles I have in my pocket, you'll be the beau-ideal of a French
commercial traveller.'
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