"Of course," said the lady of the house, "you can turn yourself into a
hermit if you like. We'll build you a little cell, and----"
"What?" I said. "A real hermit, in a long robe like a bath-gown? With a
real cell, and a dish of herbs on a plain deal table, and some rocks to
sleep on, and a folio volume always open at the same place? May I really
be like that?"
"Yes," she said, "that's what you're coming to. And there'll be a notice
stuck up on a tree--'This way to the Hermit,' with a painted hand."
"I know the sort," I said. "A hand with only one finger."
"Yes, one finger pointing in the direction of the cell. And all the
village children will follow you when you go out, and you'll threaten
them with a gnarled stick, and you'll be indicted as a nuisance."
"But not for a long time," I said. "I shall have lots of good hermiting
before that happens. I shall have my breakfasts quite alone and nobody
will ask me to go to Mrs. Latimer's musical afternoon in London, 4 to
7."
"Well, you're not a hermit yet, so you'll have to come to Mrs. Latimer's
with me. You know you'll enjoy it when you get there."
"I won't."
"And you'll meet plenty of your friends."
"But I don't want to meet my friends," I said. "Friends are people yon
go on being friends with without meeting them. That's the essence of
true friendship, you know. Absence doesn't alter it. You keep on
thinking of dear old Jack and what fun you used to have together at
Cambridge; and then some day a funny old gentleman comes up to you in
the street and says you don't remember him, and you pretend you know him
quite well, and it's Jack all the time, and you wonder how he's got so
old while you yourself have kept on being as young as ever. That's
friendship."
"This," she said, "is not an Essay Club."
"What should a woman know of friendship?" I said bitterly. "Besides, I
shall have to get a new top-hat."
"Well," she said, "there's nothing so very awful in that. But what's the
matter with the old one?"
"The old one," I said, "is a blacked sepulchre, and even the black part
of it is not very good. The lining is of the sort that makes it
necessary to place it on a table with the opening down. Fortunate woman,
your hats require no lining and you don't take them off. You cannot
sympathise with my feelings. Such a top-hat as mine is good enough for a
Board meeting, but it cannot go to Mrs. Latimer's musical afternoon. Her
footman would despise me."
"Very well," she said, "get your new hat and have it ready for this day
fortnight."
The upshot of this conversation was that on the following day I went to
London, wearing my old top-hat, and called at Messrs. Hutchfield's, the
famous hatters. It is not a very large shop, but it is very high, and
something like a million white hat-boxes, each presumably containing a
hat, are stacked in gleaming tiers from floor to ceiling. The higher
ones are fetched down by means of a long pole provided at one end with a
sort of inverted hook. It is a most dexterous and pleasing trick, only
to be attempted by an old hand. An inexperienced practitioner would
certainly bring down an avalanche of hat-boxes on the heads of the
customers. On one side of the room there is a patent stove in which
several irons were heating, not for torture, but for the improvement of
hats. Several aproned attendants were bustling about, and one or two
customers with bare heads were eyeing one another with an exaggerated
air of haughty nonchalance, as who should say, "Observe, we do not wear
white aprons. We do not _belong_ to the shop. We are genuine customers.
We are waiting for our hats."
"Good morning," I said.
"Good morning, Sir," said one of the attendants; "what would you be
requiring to-day?"
"I think," I said, "it was a hat. Yes, I'm sure it was. A top-hat, you
know--one of your best."
"Pardon me, Sir." With a graceful and airy movement he whisked off my
old hat and took its measure in length and breadth.
"You mustn't draw any inference from the lining," I said. "I'm not
really as poor as all that. I've meant to have it re-lined several
times, but somehow I never brought it off. Still, it's been a good hat."
"Yes, Sir," he said.
"Could it be----"
"Oh, yes, Sir, we could re-line it for you and make it look almost as
good as new."
"Splendid!" I cried. "Then I shan't want a new one, shall I?"
"Well, Sir, it would take some little time. You would want to wear
something to go on with till it's finished."
"There is," I said, "some force in that. Put the machine on me at once."
"The what, Sir?"
"The machine," I said. "The beautifully contrived, apparatus made of
ever so many wooden keys like the inside of a piano--only those are set
in circles. It fits close to the head and you can make it looser or
tighter, and when you've got it on you look like a Siamese king in his
crown. And when you take it off you tear out a piece of paper and that
gives you the exact measure to a hair's-breadth. Come, I'm ready."
His face relaxed into a serious kind of smile.
"Certainly," he said, "you shall have it on, Sir, if you like. But I
thought, being an old customer and your measure being known, it might
not be necessary."
"Very well," I said, "I'll give up the machine, but I don't see how I
can take any further pleasure in this purchase. Still, if you know me so
well----"
"We don't forget customers of thirty years' standing," he said proudly.
"That settles it," I said. "I will now buy four hats--a top-hat, a
bowler, a soft felt and a straw hat."
"Yes, Sir," he said, and from an upper tier he extracted a hat-box out
of which he shortly produced a top-hat and placed it on my head. It did
not fit at first, but fire soon reduced it to obedience.
"The others must be similarly treated," I said as I left the shop.
Unfortunately in the interval it had begun to rain and every taxi seemed
to be taken. You know what a new top-hat looks like after that. However,
with two hats to choose from, I am now ready to face Mrs. Latimer's
footman.