Excerpt from Pink Marsh: A Story of the Streets and Town
He happened into the place one afternoon in the late autumn. They met by chance - the usual way. If he had shaved himself that morning, as he should have done, he never would have met Pink. Perhaps Fate issued a sub-decree.
That afternoon as he moved through the weaving crowd toward the corner where his trolley-car stopped for him, he felt of his face and found it stubbled. The shop opened invitingly at the bottom of a white stairway. Most of the barber-shops in Chicago are underground. He descended to the shop and sat in the first chair. When he had been tilted back he closed his eyes so as to keep away the horrors of a ceiling-design.
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