Chapter V (2)

Titmouse, for the remainder of the day, felt, as may be imagined, but little at his ease; for--to say nothing of his insuperable repugnance to the discharge of any of his former duties--his uneasiness under the oppressive civilities of Mr. Tag-rag; and the evident disgust towards him entertained by his companions; many most important considerations arising out of recent and coming events--his altering circumstances--were momentarily forcing themselves upon his attention. The first of these was his _hair_; for Heaven seemed to have suddenly given him the long-coveted means of changing its detested hue; and the next was _an eyeglass_, without which, he had long felt his appearance and appointments to be painfully incomplete. Early in the afternoon, therefore, on the readily admitted plea of important business, he obtained the permission of the obsequious Mr. Tag-rag to depart for the day; and instantly directed his steps to the well-known shop of a fashionable perfumer and perruquier, in Bond Street--well-known to those, at least, who were in the habit of glancing at the enticing advertisements in the newspapers. Having watched through the window till the coast was clear, (for he felt a natural delicacy in asking for a hair-dye before people who could in an instant perceive his urgent occasion for it,) he entered the shop, where a well-dressed gentleman was sitting behind the counter reading. He was handsome; and his elaborately curled hair was of a heavenly black (so at least Titmouse considered it) which was better than a thousand printed advertisements of the celebrated fluid which formed the chief commodity there vended. Titmouse with a little hesitation, asked this gentleman what was the price of their article "for turning _light_ hair black"--and was answered--"only seven and sixpence for the smaller-sized bottle." One was in a twinkling placed upon the counter, where it lay like a miniature mummy, swathed, as it were, in manifold advertisements. "You'll find the fullest directions within, and testimonials from the highest nobility to the wonderful efficacy of the 'CYANOCHAITANTHROPOPOION.'"[12]

"_Sure_ it will do, sir?" inquired Titmouse, anxiously.

"Is _my_ hair dark enough to your taste, sir?" said the gentleman, with a calm and bland manner--"because I owe it entirely to this invaluable specific."

"Do you, indeed, sir?" inquired Titmouse: adding with a sigh, "but, between ourselves, look at mine!"--and, lifting off his hat for a moment, he exhibited a great crop of bushy, carroty hair.

"Whew! rather ugly that, sir!"--exclaimed the gentleman, looking very serious--"What a curse it is to be born with such hair, isn't it?"

"'Pon my life I think so, sir!" answered Titmouse, mournfully; "and do you really say, sir, that this what's-its-name turned _yours_ of that beautiful black?"

"Think? 'Pon my honor, sir,--certain; no mistake, I assure you! I was fretting myself into my grave about the color of my hair! Why, sir, there was a nobleman in here (I don't like to mention names) the other day, with a head that seemed as if it had been dipped into water, and then powdered with brick-dust; but--I assure you, the Cyanochaitanthropopoion was too much for it--it turned black in a very short time. You should have seen his lordship's ecstasy--[the speaker saw that Titmouse would swallow anything; so he went on with a confident air]--and in a month's time he had married a beautiful woman whom he had loved from a child, but who had vowed she could never bring herself to marry a man with such a head of hair."

"How long does it take to do all this, sir?" interrupted Titmouse, eagerly, with a beating heart.

"Sometimes two--sometimes three days. In four days' time, I'll answer for it, your most intimate friend would not know you. My wife did not know me for a long while, and wouldn't let me salute her--ha, ha!" Here another customer entered; and Titmouse, laying down the five-pound note he had squeezed out of Tag-rag, put the wonder-working bottle into his pocket, and on receiving his change, departed, bursting with eagerness to try the effects of the Cyanochaitanthropopoion. Within half an hour's time he might have been seen driving a hard bargain with a pawnbroker for a massive-looking eyeglass, upon which, as it hung suspended in the window, he had for months cast a longing eye; and he eventually purchased it (his eyesight, I need hardly say, was perfect) for only fifteen shillings. After taking a hearty dinner in a little dusky eating-house in Rupert Street, frequented by fashionable-looking foreigners, with splendid heads of curling hair and mustaches, he hastened home, eager to commence the grand experiment. Fortunately, he was undisturbed that evening. Having lit his candle, and locked his door, with tremulous fingers he opened the papers enveloping the little bottle; and glancing over their contents, got so inflamed with the numberless instances of its efficacy, detailed in brief but glowing terms--as--the "Duke of....--the Countess of....--the Earl of, &c. &c. &c. &c.--the lovely Miss----, the celebrated Sir Little Bull's-eye, (who was so gratified that he allowed his name to be used)--all of whom, from having hair of the reddest possible description, were now possessed of raven-hued locks"--that he threw down the paper, and hurriedly got the cork out of the bottle. Having turned up his coat-cuffs, he commenced the application of the Cyanochaitanthropopoion, rubbing it into his hair, eyebrows, and whiskers, with all the energy he was capable of, for upwards of half an hour. Then he read over again every syllable on the papers in which the bottle had been wrapped; and about eleven o'clock, having given sundry curious glances at the glass, got into bed, full of exciting hopes and delightful anxieties concerning the success of the great experiment he was trying. He could not sleep for several hours. He dreamed a rapturous dream--that he bowed to a gentleman with coal-black hair, whom he fancied he had seen before--and suddenly discovered that he was only looking at _himself_ in a glass!!--This awoke him. Up he jumped--sprang to his little glass breathlessly--but ah! merciful Heavens! he almost dropped down dead! His hair was perfectly _green_--there could be no mistake about it. He stood staring in the glass in speechless horror, his eyes and mouth distended to their utmost, for several minutes. Then he threw himself on the bed, and felt fainting. Out he presently jumped again, in a kind of ecstasy--rubbed his hair desperately and wildly about--again looked into the glass--there it was, rougher than before; but eyebrows, whiskers, and head--all were, if anything, of a more vivid and brilliant green. Despair came over him. What had all his past troubles been to this?--what was to become of him? He got into bed again, and burst into a perspiration. Two or three times he got into and out of bed, to look at himself--on each occasion deriving only more terrible confirmation than before, of the disaster which had befallen him. After lying still for some minutes, he got out of bed, and kneeling down, tried to say his prayers; but it was in vain--and he rose half choked. It was plain he must have his head shaved, and wear a wig, which would be making an old man of him at once. Getting more and more disturbed in his mind, he dressed himself, half determined on starting off to Bond Street, and breaking every pane of glass in the shop window of the infernal impostor who had sold him the liquid which had so frightfully disfigured him. As he stood thus irresolute, he heard the step of Mrs. Squallop approaching his door, and recollected that he had ordered her to bring up his tea-kettle about that time. Having no time to take his clothes off, he thought the best thing he could do, would be, to pop into bed again, draw his nightcap down to his ears and eyebrows, pretend to be asleep, and, turning his back towards the door, have a chance of escaping the observation of his landlady. No sooner thought of, than done. Into bed he jumped, and drew the clothes over him--not aware, however, that in his hurry he had left his legs, with boots and trousers on, exposed to view--an unusual spectacle to his landlady, who had, in fact, scarcely ever known him in bed at so late an hour before. He lay as still as a mouse. Mrs. Squallop, after glancing with surprise at his legs, happening to direct her eyes towards the window, beheld a small bottle standing there--only half of whose dark contents were remaining. Oh gracious!--of course it must be POISON, and Mr. Titmouse must be dead!--In a sudden fright she dropped the kettle, plucked the clothes off the trembling Titmouse, and cried out--"Oh, Mr. Titmouse! Mr. Titmouse! what _have_ you been"----

"Well, ma'am, what the devil do you mean? How dare you"---- commenced Titmouse, suddenly sitting up, and looking furiously at Mrs. Squallop. An inconceivably strange and horrid figure he looked. He had all his day clothes on; a white cotton nightcap was drawn down to his very eyes, like a man going to be hanged; his face was very pale, and his whiskers were of a bright green color.

"Lard a-mighty!" exclaimed Mrs. Squallop, faintly, the moment that this strange apparition had presented itself; and sinking on the chair, she pointed with a dismayed air to the ominous-looking object standing on the window shelf. Titmouse thence inferred that she had found out the true state of the case. "Well--_isn't_ it an infernal shame, Mrs. Squallop?" said he, getting off the bed; and, plucking off his nightcap, he exhibited the full extent of his misfortune. "What d'ye think of _that_!" he exclaimed, staring wildly at her. Mrs. Squallop gave a faint shriek, turned her head aside, and motioned him away.

"I shall go mad--I SHALL!" cried Titmouse, tearing his green hair.

"Oh Lord!--oh Lord!" groaned Mrs. Squallop, evidently expecting him to leap upon her. Presently, however, she a little recovered her presence of mind; and Titmouse, stuttering with fury, explained to her what had taken place. As he went on, Mrs. Squallop became less and less able to control herself, and at length burst into a fit of convulsive laughter, and sat holding her hands to her fat shaking sides, and appearing likely to tumble off her chair. Titmouse was almost on the point of striking her! At length, however, the fit went off; and wiping her eyes, she expressed the greatest commiseration for him, and proposed to go down and fetch up some soft soap and flannel, and try what "a good hearty wash would do." Scarce sooner said than done--but, alas, in vain! Scrub, scrub--lather, lather, did they both; but, the instant that the soap-suds had been washed off, there was the head as green as ever!

"Oh, murder, murder! what _am_ I to do, Mrs. Squallop?" groaned Titmouse, having taken another look at himself in the glass.

"Why--really I'd be off to a police-office, and have 'em all taken up, if as how I was _you!_" quoth Mrs. Squallop.

"No--See if I don't take that bottle, and make the fellow that sold it me swallow what's left--and I'll smash in his shop front besides!"

"Oh, you won't--you mustn't--not on no account! Stop at home a bit, and be quiet; it may go off with all this washing, in the course of the day. Soft soap is an uncommon strong thing for getting colors out--but--a--a--excuse me now, Mr. Titmouse"--said Mrs. Squallop, seriously--"why wasn't you satisfied with the hair God Almighty had given you? D' ye think He didn't know a deal better than you what was best for you? I'm blest if I don't think this is a judgment on you, when one comes to consider!"

"What's the use of your standing preaching to me in this way, Mrs. Squallop?" said Titmouse, first with amazement, and then with fury in his manner--"A'n't I half mad without it? Judgment or no judgment--where's the harm of my wanting black hair any more than black trousers? That a'n't _your own_ hair, Mrs. Squallop--you're as gray as a badger underneath--'pon my soul! I've often remarked it--I _have_, 'pon my soul!"

"I'll tell you what, Mr. Himperance!" furiously exclaimed Mrs. Squallop, "you're a liar! And you deserve what you've got! It _is_ a judgment, and I hope it will stick by you--so take _that_ for your sauce, you vulgar fellow!" (snapping her fingers at him.) "Get rid of your green hair if you can! It's only carrot _tops_ instead of carrot _roots_--and some likes one, some the other--ha! ha! ha!"

"I'll tell you what, Mrs. Squ"---- he commenced, but she had gone, having slammed to the door behind her with all her force; and Titmouse was left alone in a half frantic state, in which he continued for nearly two hours. Once again he read over the atrocious puffs which had over-night inflated him to such a degree, and he now saw that they were all lies. This is a sample of them:

"This divine fluid (as it was enthusiastically styled to the
inventor, by the lovely Duchess of Dunderwhistle) possesses the
inestimable and astonishing quality of changing hair, of whatever
color, to a dazzling jet-black; at the same time imparting to it a
rich glossy appearance, which wonderfully contributes to the
imposing _tout-ensemble_ presented by those who use it. That
well-known ornament of the circle of fashion, the young and lovely
Mrs. Fitzfrippery, owned to the proprietor that to this surprising
fluid it was that she was indebted for those unrivalled raven
ringlets which attracted the eyes of envying and admiring crowds,"
and so forth.

A little farther on:--

"This exquisite effect is not _in all cases_ produced
instantaneously; much will of course depend (as the celebrated M.
Dupuytren, of the Hôtel Dieu, at Paris, informed the inventor) on
the physical idiosyncrasy of the party using it, with reference to
the constituent particles of the coloring matter constituting the
fluid in the capillary vessels. Often a single application suffices
to change the most hopeless-looking head of red hair to as deep a
black; but, not unfrequently, the hair _passes through intermediate
shades and tints_--all, however, ultimately settling into a deep
and permanent black."

This passage not a little revived the drooping spirits of Titmouse. Accidentally, however, an asterisk at the last word in the above sentence, directed his eye to a note at the bottom of the page, printed in such minute type as would have baffled any but the strongest sight and most determined eye to read, and which said note was the following:--

"Though cases _do_, undoubtedly, occasionally occur, in which the
native inherent indestructible qualities of the hair defy all
attempts at change or even modification, and resist even _this_
potent remedy: of which, however, in all his experience" (the
wonderful specific has been invented for about _six months_) "the
inventor has known but very few instances."

But to this exceedingly select class of unfortunate incurables, poor Titmouse, alas! entertained a dismal suspicion that _he_ belonged.

"Look, sir! Look! Only look here what your cussed stuff has done to my hair!" said Titmouse, on presenting himself soon after to the gentleman who had sold him the infernal liquid; and, taking off his hat, exposed his green hair. The gentleman, however, did not appear at all surprised, or discomposed.

"Ah--yes! I see--I see. You're in the intermediate stage. It differs in different people"----

"Differs, sir! I'm going mad! I look like a green monkey--Cuss me if I don't!"

"In _me_, now," replied the gentleman, with a matter-of-fact air, "the color was a strong _yellow_. But have you read the explanations that are given in the wrapper?"

"Read 'em?" echoed Titmouse, furiously--"I should think so? Much good they do _me_! Sir, you're a humbug!--an impostor! I'm a sight to be seen for the rest of my life! Look at me, sir! Eyebrows, whiskers, and all!"

"_Rather_ a singular appearance, just at present, I must own," said the gentleman, his face turning suddenly red all over with the violent effort he was making to prevent an explosion of laughter. He soon, however, recovered himself, and added coolly--"If you'll only persevere"----

"Persevere be d----d!" interrupted Titmouse, violently clapping his hat on his head, "I'll teach you to _persevere_ in taking in the public! I'll have a warrant out against you in no time!"

"Oh, my dear sir, I'm accustomed to all this!" said the gentleman, coolly.

"The--devil--you--are!" gasped Titmouse, quite aghast.

"Oh, often--often, while the liquid is performing the first stage of the change; but, in a day or two afterwards, the parties generally come back smiling into my shop, with heads as black as crows!"

"No! But really--do they, sir?" interrupted Titmouse, drawing a long breath.

"Hundreds, I may say thousands, my dear sir! And one lady gave me a picture of herself, in her black hair, to make up for her abuse of me when it was in a puce color--Fact, honor!"

"But do you recollect any one's hair turning _green_, and then getting black?" inquired Titmouse, with trembling anxiety.

"Recollect any? Fifty at least. For instance, there was Lord Albert Addlehead--but why should I mention names? I know hundreds! But everything is honor and confidential _here_!"

"And did Lord what's-his-name's hair grow green, and then black; and was it at first as light as mine?"

"His hair was redder, and in consequence it became greener, and now is blacker than ever yours will be."

"Well, if I and my landlady have this morning used an ounce, we've used a quarter of a pound of soft soap in"----

"Soft soap!--soft soap!" cried out the gentleman, with an air of sudden alarm--"That explains all," (he forgot how well it had been already explained by him.) "By Heavens, sir!--soft soap! You may have ruined your hair forever!" Titmouse opened his eyes and mouth with a start of terror, it not occurring to his astute mind that the intolerable green had preceded, not followed, the use of the soft soap. "Go home, my dear sir! God bless you--go home, as you value your hair; take this small bottle of DAMASCUS CREAM, and rub it in before it's too late; and then use the remainder of the"----

"Then you don't think it's already too late?" inquired Titmouse, faintly; and, having been assured to the contrary--having asked the price of the Damascus cream, which was "_only_ three-and-sixpence," (stamp included)--he purchased and paid for it with a rueful air, and took his departure. He sneaked homeward along the streets with the air of a pickpocket, fearful that every one he met was an officer who had his eye on him. He was not, in fact, very far off the mark; for many a person smiled, and stared, and turned round to look at him as he went along.