Volume VIII Part 16 (1/2)
Presently there came a tap on the door, and I flung it wide. But my visitor was not the benevolent old gentleman. He was the Frenchman whose absinthe had offended me. He glanced at the slip of paper in his hand.
”I have zee honaire to address zee--ah--gentleman in numbaire six?”
”I live here.”
”Delight'! We have meexed zee hats, I have zee r-r-regret. Ees thees your hat?” He held out, for my inspection, an opera-hat. ”I am _so_ absent-mind'--what you call deestrait?”--affably.
I took the hat, which at first glance I thought to be mine, and went over to the rack, taking down the old stovepipe.
”This is yours, then?” I said, smiling.
”Thousand thanks, m'sieu! Eet ees certain mine. I have zee honaire to beg pardon for zee confusion. My compliments! Good night!”
Without giving the hat a single glance, he clapped it on his head, bowed and disappeared, leaving me his card. He hadn't been gone two minutes when I discovered that the hat he had exchanged for the stovepipe was _not_ mine. It came from the same firm, but the initials proved it without doubt to belong to the young fellow I had met at the table. I said some uncomplimentary things. Where the deuce _was_ my hat?
Evidently the benevolent old gentleman hadn't waked up yet.
Ting-a-ling! It was the boy's bell again.
”Well?”
”Another man after a hat. What's goin' on?”
”Send him up!” I yelled. It came over me that the Frenchman had made a second mistake.
I was not disappointed this time in my visitor. It was the benevolent old gentleman. Evidently he had not located _his_ hat either, and might not for some time to come. I began to believe that I had given it to the Frenchman. He seemed terribly excited.
”You are the gentleman who occupies number six?”
”Yes, sir. This is my apartment. You have come in regard to a hat?”
”Yes, sir. My name is Chittenden. Our hats got mixed up at Martin's this evening; my fault, as usual. I am always doing something absurd, my memory is so bad. When I discovered my mistake I was calling on the family of a client with whom I had spent most of the afternoon. I missed some valuable papers, legal doc.u.ments. I believed as usual that I had forgotten to take them with me. They were nowhere to be found at the house. My client has a very mischievous son, and it seems that he stuffed the papers behind the inside band of my hat. With them there was a letter. I have had two very great scares. A great deal of trouble would ensue if the papers were lost. I just telephoned that I had located the hat.” He laughed pleasantly.
Good heavens! here was a howdy-do.
”My dear Mr. Chittenden, there has been a great confusion,” I faltered.
”I had your hat, but--but you have come too late.”
”Too late?” he roared, or I should say, to be exact, shouted.
”Yes, sir.”
”What have you done with it?”
”Not five minutes ago I gave it to a Frenchman, who seemed to recognize it as his. It was the Frenchman, if you will remember, who sat near your table in the cafe.”
”And this hat isn't yours, then?”--helplessly.
”This” was a flat-brimmed hat of the Paris boulevards, the father of all stovepipe hats, dear to the Frenchman's heart.
”Candidly, now,” said I with a bit of excusable impatience, ”do I look like a man who would wear a hat like that?”