“If you will let me have your tripod, Miss Illwin,” said Allan, “I think I can reach it with that.”
A single leg of the tripod proved insufficient, but, by hitching two of them to the top piece, Allan managed to reach the vagrant hat.
“Is it spoiled?” asked McConnell.
Miss Illwin shook the bedraggled hat. “I’m afraid it is,” she said, adjusting it with a wince, and pushing through the pins. “What a providence that I didn’t wear the one with the feather!”
The club appeared much relieved to see Miss Illwin.
Everybody had a story about the loss of a hat, but no one claimed to have recovered one under such picturesque conditions.
“Well,” said the Major, as they walked toward the “L” station, “I’ll wager none of you ever had your hat blow into the crater of a volcano.”
“Gracious! Suppose you had gone with it!” cried Miss Manston.
“Couldn’t you get it with a pole, or a hook and line?” asked McConnell.
“No, I couldn’t,” grunted the Major. “Never saw the crater of Vesuvius, did you?”