Irving Place is also very rich in interesting little shops—­laundries, tailors, carpenters, stationers, and a pleasant bookshop.  It is a haunt of hand-organ men.  The cool tavern at the corner of Eighteenth, where Con Delaney tended the bar in the days when O. Henry visited it, is there still.  All along the little byway is a calm, genteel, domestic mood, in spite of the encroachments of factories and apartment houses.  There are window boxes with flowers, and a sort of dim suffusion of conscious literary feeling.  One has a suspicion that in all those upper rooms are people writing short stories.  “Want to see a freak?” asks the young man in the bookshop as we are looking over his counters.  We do, of course, and follow his animated gesture.  Across the street comes a plump young woman, in a very short skirt of a violent blue, with a thick mane of bobbed hair, carrying her hat in her hand.  She looks rather comfortable and seemly to us, but something about her infuriates the bookseller.  He is quite Freudian in his indignation that any young woman should habit herself so.  We wonder what the psycho-analyst a few blocks below would say about it.  And walking a few paces further, one comes upon the green twitter, the tended walks and pink geranium beds of Gramercy Park.

* * * * *

There is no time when we need spiritual support so much as when we are having our hair cut, for indeed it is the only time when we are ever thoroughly and entirely Bored.  But having found a good-natured barber who said he would not mind our reading a book while he was shearing, we went through with it.  The ideal book to read at such a time (we offer you this advice, brave friends) is the “Tao” of Lao-Tse, that ancient and admirable Chinese sage. (Dwight Goddard’s translation is very agreeable.) “The Tao,” as of course you know, is generally translated The Way, i.e., the Way of Life of the Reasonable Man.

Lao-Tse, we assert, is the ideal author to read while the barber is at his business.  He answers every inquiry that will be made, and all you have to do is hold the book up and point to your favourite marked passages.

When the barber says, genially, “Well, have you done your Christmas shopping yet?” we raise the book and point to this maxim: 

     Taciturnity is natural to man.

When he says, “How about a nice little shampoo this morning?” we are prompt to indicate: 

     The wise man attends to the inner significance of things and
     does not concern himself with outward appearances.

When, as we sit in the chair, we see (in the mirror before us) the lovely reflection of the beautiful manicure lady, and she arches her eyebrows at us to convey the intimation that we ought to have our hands attended to, old Lao-Tse is ready with the answer.  We reassure ourself with his remark: 

     Though he be surrounded with sights that are magnificent, the
     wise man will remain calm and unconcerned.