With that we returned to our cab and drove away, leaving the man standing
in the centre of his boot-bedecked doorway addressing remarks to us. What
he said, I did not hear, but the passers-by appeared to find it
interesting.

George was for stopping at another boot shop and trying the experiment
afresh; he said he really did want a pair of bedroom slippers. But we
persuaded him to postpone their purchase until our arrival in some
foreign city, where the tradespeople are no doubt more inured to this
sort of talk, or else more naturally amiable. On the subject of the hat,
however, he was adamant. He maintained that without that he could not
travel, and, accordingly, we pulled up at a small shop in the Blackfriars
Road.

The proprietor of this shop was a cheery, bright-eyed little man, and he
helped us rather than hindered us.

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.