When George asked him in the words of the book, “Have you any hats?” he did not get angry; he just stopped and thoughtfully scratched his chin.
“Hats,” said he. “Let me think. Yes”—here a smile of positive pleasure broke over his genial countenance—“yes, now I come to think of it, I believe I have a hat. But, tell me, why do you ask me?”
George explained to him that he wished to purchase a cap, a travelling cap, but the essence of the transaction was that it was to be a “good cap.”
The man’s face fell.
“Ah,” he remarked, “there, I am afraid, you have me. Now, if you had wanted a bad cap, not worth the price asked for it; a cap good for nothing but to clean windows with, I could have found you the very thing. But a good cap—no; we don’t keep them. But wait a minute,” he continued,—on seeing the disappointment that spread over George’s expressive countenance, “don’t be in a hurry. I have a cap here”—he went to a drawer and opened it—“it is not a good cap, but it is not so bad as most of the caps I sell.”
He brought it forward, extended on his palm.
“What do you think of that?” he asked. “Could you put up with that?”
George fitted it on before the glass, and, choosing another remark from the book, said:
“This hat fits me sufficiently well, but, tell me, do you consider that it becomes me?”
The man stepped back and took a bird’s-eye view.