"Well, by George," said Wilmot, his good nature returning, "if that's the idea, I'll turn up at three sharp. Sure thing."
XXII
Blizzard had upon his desk a specimen of the straw hats which the young ladies of his establishment were kept so busy plaiting. At exactly three o'clock he thrust it to one side, and at exactly the same moment the bell of his street door clanged, and Wilmot Allen came in out of the sunlight.
"On time," said Blizzard, "thank you. Are you a judge of hats? Try that one."
Obediently Wilmot removed his own heavy yellowish straw, and substituted the soft and pliant article indicated. It fitted him to perfection, and the legless man smiled.
"It's yours," he said; "fold it up, and put it in your pocket."
"It'll break it."
"Here. Let me show you." And Blizzard folded the hat as if it had been a linen handkerchief. "Very handy thing," he said, "and only to be obtained as a gift. Sit down," Wilmot thrust the hat into his inside pocket and sat down on the beggar's left, facing the light. The faint hum of girls talking at their work came from the back of the establishment. A whirling fan buzzed and bumped. The weather had turned very hot.
"Young man," the beggar began abruptly, "if I had your legs I'd engage in something more active and adventurous than the manufacture of straw hats. Have you ever had the wish to be a soldier of fortune? To go about the world redressing wrong, fighting upon the side of the oppressed?"