Having spent much of the sabbath day in the observance of that Biblical precept laid down in the Book of Genesis, Mr Headstone determined to be up betimes on Monday morning and venture out into the neighbouring streets to observe that portion of humanity which chance and circumstance had thrown into his immediate orbit. True to his word, he unfolded his limbs from the tangled nest of his bedclothes before the cockerel had had a chance to crow - not that that noble clarion of the dawn had ever been heard within the murky precincts in which Mr Headstone resided - and busied himself with the application of that most essential element of a gentleman's toilette - that is to say, a shave.
Mr Headstone might for the price of a penny have availed himself of a very close shave from a barber in Fleet Street, whose reputation with a blade was much admired. However, as the schoolmaster was a man of a frugal disposition and never chose to pay for a service that he could effect himself without the necessity of a fee, he was in the habit of trimming his own whiskers. With this operation in mind, he prepared a bowl of lather, ran a straight razor over an old army belt that doubled for a strop, and greeted his lean and lank visage in the cracked shard of broken glass that served as his shaving mirror.
Who can say whether it was the dullness of the steel (made duller perhaps by the softened leather of the bandolier), or the stiffness of the bristles on the gentleman's chin; or whether it was the deceitful reflection presented by the fractured glass, or the unsteady motion with which the blade was applied to the cheek; or whether it was the result of all these circumstances working in concert? Whatever the root cause of the calamity, it was an undeniable fact that Mr Headstone was incapable of shaving himself without drawing a copious quantity of blood in the process. In an effort to staunch the flow and prevent the pallor of his complexion from becoming so severe that it might startle passers-by, the pedagogue applied screws of paper soaked in gin to the wounds he inflicted upon himself. Although this method might be judged effective as a prophylactic, it could not in any sense be considered a means of enhancing the gentleman's appearance. It is fortunate, therefore, that Mr Headstone, being on equitable terms with his own reflection, did not take any offence at the image that stared back at him out of the glass.
Having dressed and breakfasted, Mr Headstone was ready for the world even if the world was not quite ready for him. In an effort to determine the prevailing meteorological conditions, he stuck his head out of the window and, by performing a movement more common to a tapster's corkscrew than the human frame, was able to discern a patch of azure sky between the gables and the sooty chimney tops. Abjuring the need for an umbrella, Mr Headstone pulled on his great coat, put his copy of The Pickwick Papers in one pocket and - for the purpose of balance - a lump of coal in the other, and set forth on his peregrination.
Mr Charles Dickens
