Synopsis

"Next gentleman!" said André Maggimore, one of the journeyman barbers in the extensive shaving saloon of Cutts & Stropmore, which was situated near the Plutonian temples of State Street, in the city of Boston. "Next gentleman!" repeated André, in tones as soft and feminine as those of a woman, when no one responded to his summons. "My turn?" asked a spare young man of sixteen, throwing down the Post, with a languid air, and rising to his feet.