Thurwinker's lips compressed a little. "You give us land. We make you
Big Chief. Chief of all you see."
"I am now Chief of all I see," Goma said.
Thurwinker made several more suggestions without any sign of success.
Goma stood up. "I go now," he announced.
"But, Chief!" Thurwinker protested.
Goma brushed him aside and strode out of the hut. He was joined by his
retinue which closed in about him, rudely shoving Thurwinker to one
side. In silence, the procession marched up the street, apparently
ignoring everything. They were nearly past Roy's barber shop when one
of the natives let out a screech and froze with one foot slightly off
the ground. The others turned to look through the barber shop window
and, as they did, emitted groans, yelps and gasps.
Roy stopped his cutting and looked at the natives. He studied them for
a moment and then went back to snipping his customer's hair. As the
scissors closed on a lock of hair, a simultaneous groan went up from
the assembled natives. The expressions of horror became more and more
intense as the man's hair fell to the floor in little tufts. A tall,
muscular native quietly fainted. None of the others paid any attention
to him. Their eyes were riveted in terrible fascination on the gleaming
shears.
Soon the man stepped out of the barber chair and smiled at Roy as he
slipped on his jacket. He stopped at the door and stared at the natives
curiously. They fell back as he approached and a low mutter ran through
the group.
Thurwinker had drifted up sometime during the performance and stood
scratching his head. The man looked at Thurwinker with a puzzled frown.
"What are they doing here?" he asked.