{"id":"01KG8AKBBC9C0C471EEH2XJME3","cid":"bafkreied7j6da5qmgjntpizbczv452562w3jwrw3y7ylr5ozyulqaorfja","type":"chunk","properties":{"end_line":9806,"extracted_at":"2026-01-30T20:47:57.726Z","extracted_by":"structure-extraction-lambda","label":"Chunk 1","source_file":"01KG89J1JMR8XVKPA0G8ADAPC4","start_line":9732,"text":"CHAPTER XLII.\r\n\r\nUPON THE HEEL OF THE LAST SCENE THE COSMOPOLITAN ENTERS THE BARBER'S\r\nSHOP, A BENEDICTION ON HIS LIPS.\r\n\r\n\r\n\"Bless you, barber!\"\r\n\r\nNow, owing to the lateness of the hour, the barber had been all alone\r\nuntil within the ten minutes last passed; when, finding himself rather\r\ndullish company to himself, he thought he would have a good time with\r\nSouter John and Tam O'Shanter, otherwise called Somnus and Morpheus, two\r\nvery good fellows, though one was not very bright, and the other an\r\narrant rattlebrain, who, though much listened to by some, no wise man\r\nwould believe under oath.\r\n\r\nIn short, with back presented to the glare of his lamps, and so to the\r\ndoor, the honest barber was taking what are called cat-naps, and\r\ndreaming in his chair; so that, upon suddenly hearing the benediction\r\nabove, pronounced in tones not unangelic, starting up, half awake, he\r\nstared before him, but saw nothing, for the stranger stood behind. What\r\nwith cat-naps, dreams, and bewilderments, therefore, the voice seemed a\r\nsort of spiritual manifestation to him; so that, for the moment, he\r\nstood all agape, eyes fixed, and one arm in the air.\r\n\r\n\"Why, barber, are you reaching up to catch birds there with salt?\"\r\n\r\n\"Ah!\" turning round disenchanted, \"it is only a man, then.\"\r\n\r\n\"_Only_ a man? As if to be but a man were nothing. But don't be too sure\r\nwhat I am. You call me _man_, just as the townsfolk called the angels\r\nwho, in man's form, came to Lot's house; just as the Jew rustics called\r\nthe devils who, in man's form, haunted the tombs. You can conclude\r\nnothing absolute from the human form, barber.\"\r\n\r\n\"But I can conclude something from that sort of talk, with that sort of\r\ndress,\" shrewdly thought the barber, eying him with regained\r\nself-possession, and not without some latent touch of apprehension at\r\nbeing alone with him. What was passing in his mind seemed divined by the\r\nother, who now, more rationally and gravely, and as if he expected it\r\nshould be attended to, said: \"Whatever else you may conclude upon, it is\r\nmy desire that you conclude to give me a good shave,\" at the same time\r\nloosening his neck-cloth. \"Are you competent to a good shave, barber?\"\r\n\r\n\"No broker more so, sir,\" answered the barber, whom the business-like\r\nproposition instinctively made confine to business-ends his views of the\r\nvisitor.\r\n\r\n\"Broker? What has a broker to do with lather? A broker I have always\r\nunderstood to be a worthy dealer in certain papers and metals.\"\r\n\r\n\"He, he!\" taking him now for some dry sort of joker, whose jokes, he\r\nbeing a customer, it might be as well to appreciate, \"he, he! You\r\nunderstand well enough, sir. Take this seat, sir,\" laying his hand on a\r\ngreat stuffed chair, high-backed and high-armed, crimson-covered, and\r\nraised on a sort of dais, and which seemed but to lack a canopy and\r\nquarterings, to make it in aspect quite a throne, \"take this seat, sir.\"\r\n\r\n\"Thank you,\" sitting down; \"and now, pray, explain that about the\r\nbroker. But look, look--what's this?\" suddenly rising, and pointing,\r\nwith his long pipe, towards a gilt notification swinging among colored\r\nfly-papers from the ceiling, like a tavern sign, \"_No Trust?_\" \"No trust\r\nmeans distrust; distrust means no confidence. Barber,\" turning upon him\r\nexcitedly, \"what fell suspiciousness prompts this scandalous confession?\r\nMy life!\" stamping his foot, \"if but to tell a dog that you have no\r\nconfidence in him be matter for affront to the dog, what an insult to\r\ntake that way the whole haughty race of man by the beard! By my heart,\r\nsir! but at least you are valiant; backing the spleen of Thersites with\r\nthe pluck of Agamemnon.\"\r\n\r\n\"Your sort of talk, sir, is not exactly in my line,\" said the barber,\r\nrather ruefully, being now again hopeless of his customer, and not\r\nwithout return of uneasiness; \"not in my line, sir,\" he emphatically\r\nrepeated.\r\n\r","title":"Chunk 1"},"relationships":[{"peer":"01KG8AJNPWHK63WHT4VHC9C1QT","peer_type":"chapter","predicate":"in"},{"peer":"01KG89J1JMR8XVKPA0G8ADAPC4","peer_type":"file","predicate":"extractedFrom"},{"peer":"01KG89HMDZKNY753EZE1CJ8HZW","peer_type":"collection","predicate":"collection"},{"peer":"01KG8AKBB5MK4CX4BR1WKRSPH6","peer_type":"chunk","predicate":"next"}],"ver":2,"created_at":"2026-01-30T20:48:01.388Z","ts":"2026-01-30T20:48:14.948Z","edited_by":{"method":"manual","user_id":"01KFF0H3YRP9ZSM033AM0QJ47H"}}