"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.

"Candidly," he replied, "I can't say that it does."

He turned from George, and addressed himself to Harris and myself.

"Your friend's beauty," said he, "I should describe as elusive. It is
there, but you can easily miss it. Now, in that cap, to my mind, you do
miss it."