I left Thomas scrambling about the mosaic lobby of the theater for his
opera-hat. When he recovered it, it resembled one of those accordions
upon which vaudeville artists play Mendelssohn's Wedding March and the
latest ragtime (by request). Some one had stepped on it. Among the
unanswerable questions stands prominently: Why do we laugh when a man
loses his hat? Thomas burned with a mixture of rage and shame; shame
that Kitty should witness his discomfiture and rage that, by the time
he had retrieved the hat, the ghost had disappeared.
However, Thomas acted as a polished man of the world, as if
eight-dollar opera-hats were mere nothings. He held it out for Kitty
to inspect, smiling. Then he crushed it under his arm (where the
broken spring behaved like an unlatched jack-in-the-box) and led the
way to the Killigrew limousine.
"I am sorry, Mr. Webb," said Kitty, biting her lips.
"Now, now! Honestly, don't you know, I hated the thing. I knew
something would happen. I never realized till this moment that it is
an art all by itself to wear a high hat without feeling and looking
like a silly ass."
He laughed, honestly and heartily; and Kitty laughed, and so did her
mother. Subtle barriers were swept away, and all three of them became
what they had not yet been, friends. It was worth many opera-hats.
"Kitty, I'm beginning to like Thomas," said her mother, later. "He was
very nice about the hat. Most men would have been in a frightful
temper over it."
"I'm beginning to like him, too, mother. It was cruel, but I wanted to
shout with laughter as he dodged in and out of the throng. Did you
notice how he smiled when he showed it to me? A woman stepped on it.
When she screamed I thought there was going to be a riot."
"He's the most guileless young man I ever saw."
"He really and truly is," assented Kitty.
"I like him because he isn't afraid to climb up five flights of
tenement stairs, or to shake hands with the tenants themselves. I was
afraid at first."
"Afraid of what?"
"That you might have made a mistake in selecting him so casually for
our secretary."
"Perhaps I have," murmured Kitty, under her breath.
Alone in her bedroom the smile left Kitty's face. A brooding frown
wrinkled the smooth forehead. It was there when Celeste came in; it
remained there after Celeste departed; and it vanished only under the
soft, dispelling fingers of sleep.
There was a frown on Thomas' forehead, too; bitten deep. He tried to
read, he tried to smoke, he tried to sleep; futilely. In the middle of
the banquet, as it were, like a certain Assyrian king in Babylon,
Thomas saw the Chaldaic characters on the wall: wherever he looked,
written in fire--Thou fool!