"That’s rather a pity.  Young Noakes’s flaxen locks are as long and twice as oily as Barker’s.  Still, his father might cut up rough; he’d certainly charge you for the hair-oil you’d wasted.  Noakes gets my bristles up, and Trenchard looks very blue when he calls.  Wonder what he comes for; we’ve only been here three days, and he’s called twice at tea-time, and eaten enormously.  Any one could see the Trenchards didn’t want him; asked him to stay out of politeness, I suppose."