SHAVING THE SHERIFF. 107 



until his beard should grow, for the schoolma'ams were 

 here! And then came the temptation to make a slash or 

 two at the Adam's apple and end the whole business. I 

 was becoming nervous, and my whole body was cpiivering 

 Avitli suppressed nervous laughter. I wanted to scream and 

 throw the razor out of the window, and jump" out after it. 



" For Heaven's sake, go on, get through! " groaned the 

 Sheriff. 



That broke the spell, and I fell to work again with more 

 coolness. I reached the hollow cheeks; I had carefully 

 gone over the sliar[) chin, the long jaw-bones, and high 

 cheek-bones, — leaving my "mark," it is true, here and 

 there well cut in, — with tolerable success, from my point of 

 view, and considering my education and opportunities in 

 the businesss. But now I had come to the most critical 

 piece of work before me. How to go down into the hol- 

 lows with a straight- bladed instrument witli an awkward 

 handle like a razor's, nearly posed me. I meditated thrust- 

 ing my fingers into the Sheriff's cheeks to plump tlieiu out, 

 but was afraid he was by this time mad enough t(^ bite me, 

 or that I might cut through and slash my own fingers. I 

 can't to tliis day quite imagine how I accomplished it, but 

 I did somehow, shave out the hollows, with only a few 

 small slices being taken off on the surrounding ridges. I 

 suppose in times of great excitement or danger we are ins[)ir- 

 ed to our Ijest, and no subsequent effort of memory can 

 recall precisely the mental processes of those moments of 

 inspired activity. That is my case exactly in regard to that 

 last and supreme effort in shaving the Sheriff. 



