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By EDWARD HUNGERFORD As ? leveler of caste and a bulwark /* of social democracy the Shop of / M the Striped Polo is to bo at once -L. compared with tho voting booth and tho jury box,?where each man is the peer of every other man and sharing equally the Republic's privileges of life, lib erty, freedom, etc. You may be the chief man in your town,?and let us hope that you are. -but when you step within the door of the Shop of the Striped 1'ole the head barber looks up for it single moment from his chair, smiles his impartial smile of greeting to all good customers, and merely says: "There are only five ahead of you, Mr. Blinks." Willi three chairs working and two of them engaged upon somewhat compli cated performances, you look dubiously at the prospect, ll is Saturday,? a short day even in your town, which has not acquired all I lie metropolitan vices as yet. There is to be a meeting of the directors on l at your factory, anil you also must make the hank before the noon whistle blows. After that Jinks is going to take you out to lunch and a couple of rounds at the Country Club, and you do not know when you will be back. After that ?an oasis of harboring until Monday noon, and you pass the plate tomorrow morning in church. You recount these things quickly in your mind. There is another shop at the new hotel, but it is sure to be more crowded; another down near the carriage works, hut it has foreign barbers; then you have come to this shop for eighteen years now, and ? You slink meekly into a seat and pick up a comic paper, three weeks old and badly thumbed. At another time you might enjoy it; but now you are thinking of the time you are going to waste until the two mechanics from the paper mill, old Dr. Hedges, the .links' chaffeur, and a weasel-faced stranger in town, shall have had their opportunity and your time is come. You fuss and fume?inwardly. At heart you are an aristocrat. You drop the comic weekly and pick up a religious one?and find ironic joy in so doing. Fi nally in your ears this: "All ready, Mr. Blinks." It is your favorite barber, ?the favorite barber of all the wise men of the town. He tucks you in as a mother might tuck in her child, and runs his fat finger over your jowls as a butcher might inspect a fresh carcass in from the storehouse. Hut you like it?you honestly do! The splosh of the lather on your cheek has a feeling of enchantment; while in your ears there runs the music of the choice gossip of the town. In the chair the time goes quickly. There is gay banter as well as a democracy in the place, and before you know it you are sitting upright again, and the barber is softly asking: "Isn't it about time we tackled the hair once again?" What a Barber Earns rpil.\T is one of his perquisites, and in a profession that goes back into dim cen turies and proudly announces itself as the mother profession of modern surgery, per quisites count for something. In the mod ern barber shop in the modern city they count for something definite. The jour neyman barber may be paid only SKI or $12 a week,?rarely more than that, ex cept perhaps on the Pacific Coast, where all labor commands higher prices,?hut in almost every case lie receives a commis sion of from twenty to thirty-three per cent, on his weekly earnings over, say, 825. Then there are special commissions paid sometimes on the sale of hair tonic and other condiments. After which there remain the tips, al ways a problematical figure.'and depen dent largely upon the skill and cordiality of the barber. So it will lie seen in an IX this number Edward Hungerford begins a series of articles giving inside figures and inside facts of some typical American businesses. Each article is written from first-hand investi gation: each one gives a remarkable picture of the conditions that surround each business, of the factors that make for success or failure in it, of the risks, opportunities, earnings, and drawbacks that a man encounters in each calling. Mr. Hungerford's next article will deal with "The American Hotel." instant 1 hat the barber, like the waiter and the sleeping-ear porter, draws his real income not from his employer, but from his patrons. And this is not a tradition that goes back through centuries of barbering. It came in with the tipping habit, one of the European nuisances that we have im ported. For even such established institutions as barber shops do progress. It was a long time ago that the ancient profession of the cupper and the leecher was married to the able profession of the shoe shiner. And more recently others have come.? th?' chiropodist and the manicure (who is an institution of herself, and therefore deserves her own story). Some big modern shops, particularly those situated in or near the large railroad terminals, have complete bath and dress ing rooms, and valet service in addition. Hut the once familiar swinging sign of the tin bathtub, which always used to hang ad jacent to the Striped Pole, has disappeared. The private bathtub lias become one of the Great American Institutions. Harbor Shop '20 Years from Now WIUj the barber shop itself disappear as well? There are some worldly wise folk who aver that they already see signs of its forthcoming disintegration. They will call your attention to the number of your friends who today shave themselves -perhaps you yourself have that cleanly and efficient habit. And the roll seems to be growing constantly. "Barber shops, yes." they will tell you: "but not to shave in. The barber shop of the future will be a hair-cutting estab lishment simply and entirely." And, as if in support of this theory, they can show you right in the heart of the city of New York two or three shops in which a man could no more hope for a shave than in a cigar store or a tango palace. And there is a smart old shop foreman down in the Wall Street district whose name is almost as well known as any of the big brokers there, who can tell you of the changing taste of his patrons. "Those fellows uptown who will only cut hair are really French beard cutters." he says; "but they get away with it pretty well, just as my old boss used to get away with it with his name and 'llair Cutter' underneath it stuck up in the biggest gilt letters on the door. The big bugs would wait for him to tackle their hair, and get a worse job of it than they would have had at any other chair in the shop. Still, that's all in the day's work. "1 can see the difference in the business these days myself, though. Twelve or fifteen years ago, and I'd have eighteen or twenty shaves and perhaps half a dozen jobs of hair-cutting, shampooing, and the like. Now I won't shave more than five or six men in the passing of a single day. Hut the shop keeps just as many chairs, and every chair is just as busy as then, be cause more men come to it, and because every man wants more work these days: not only hair-cutting, but shampooing, singeing, facial massage,?all those things that used to be looked on as dudificd, but now have become a part of every business man's routine." Side Lines the Salvation JT is the development of special side lines, then, that has saved the barber shop, just at the very time that the safety razor threatened its very existence. Hut before the crisis arose there were shops that did not hesitateat specialties, nor at applying them by brute force. There is a tradition that in one of the historic hotels in downtown Now York a country man once paid $12.45 after a single session in its barber shop, and was fortunate in escaping with his life. By singular coincidence it was probably the barber himself who was the begin ning of the popular craze for the safety razor. Not by his own methods or lack of cleanliness so much, as by his own auto cratic position, did he give strength to bis new opponent, lie had forgotten one thing. He had forgotten that to a man whose beard grows fast and black an open shop each day of the week is a necessity, just as an open drugstore each day of the week is a necessity. Drugstores and rail roads and newspapers and telephone ex changes manage to operate seven days a week by giving their employees Sundays scattered through the week. Iiut the barber would not see it that way. He sought to work eacl^of his men seven days a week, and long hours in addition. They rebelled. And in one State after another the men, working through their well organized unions, se cured the passage of laws closing the bar ber shops all day Sunday. These laws still hold. And getting a shave on Sunday in many towns deserves to be reckoned among the great American adventures. It is quite out of the ques tion. unless you are willing to pay a barber privately and have him come to your house on Sabbath morning, or else have a friend who is running a hotel. In this last case you will probably be examined more minutely than a Clerman suspect going into the English lines, and. having passed this examination successfully, will be conducted through a small door be yond the bellboys' bench, through devious and winding bank halls and alleys, to 1)0 eventually let into an unused storeroom where a nervous barlter hovers over an improvised chair, and between uncertain ? strokes dreams of the police and a jail sentence. You Can't Shave in Cincinnati CUCH cities as New York, Chicago, San Francisco, and New Orleans proclaim their metropolitanism by permitting their barber shops to run openly and legally on Sunday. Boston has tlx" advantage of a Massachusetts statute permitting hotel guests to be shaved in their own rooms. And in a good many other cities the hotels have made such a statute for their own convenience. The State laws are al most always forbidding on this point. Theaters may run, films do likewise, soda fountains gurgle, but if a man wishes to he shaved in a barber shop on Sunday he is immediately classed among the felons. There is variation, of course, in the way these State laws are observed. In Cleveland a man may be shaved easily in a shop on Sunday. In Cincinnati the thing is absolutely taboo. In Kansas City you may be publicly scraped: but in St. Louis, in the same State, one must go unshaved or else cross the .>ridgc to Kast St. Louis?which is nearly as bad. In Atlanta you are shaved on Sunday by an aged and badly seared negro, who charges you five times the regular taritT for trem bling on the verge of a jail settlement; but in Savannah?well. Savannah is not in the same State as Atlanta. The immediate result of these strict laws in regard to opening barber shops 011 Sunday was to boom the safety-razor trade. A man had more necessity of be ing clean-shaved 011 Sunday than 011 al most any other day. And having solved the problem by shaving himself, it followed as only a matter of natural course that lie would shave himself each day of the week. So the barbers found themselves shaving six men a day instead of sixteen, and the business for its very existence has fallen back upon the development of its specialties. Men cannot cut their own hair. The barber thanks Heaven for that. Other businesses, indispensable and highly profitable, are being gathered into the chain-store systems across the country. The barber shops, apparently being neither indispensable nor highly profitable, have so far escaped this proc ess of economic evolution. (lives Bargain Shaves A SMART barber who runs a shop in a city in the middle part of the country has worked out an ingenious plan for the development of his own business. His shop is situated on a side street, nearer the residence section of the town than the business. His rent is low; but his location not such as to draw much transient busi ness. Vet he runs eighteen chairs, and keeps them tilled almost all day long. This man has worked out an ingenious scheme. If you wish to become a regular patron of his shop, he will sell you 011 the first day of each month a card, which en titles you to a daily shave, two hair-cuts, and two shampoos. This card costs you three dollars, and is a great saving?if you can reach his shop regularly. Kven if you do this, and use the card down to its last punch-mark, the boss smiles 011 you pleas antly. He is not losing. He is bringing to his shop the life-blood of any "busi ness,?steady income. A successful shop or store, a retail busi ness of any sort, is rarely built up 011 what an engineer would call a "peak load." The smart boss barber in Ohio has already learned that. And if a really large syndicate of barber shops should ever come into being, you may count upon him as leading it.