Bad language was writ large in every line of his body as he stood
looking about him, the hunting-crop quivering in his grasp.
It was at this precise juncture that his eye encountered me, and
pausing only to recover his unfortunate headgear, he strode toward
where I sat, "Do you know anything about this?" he inquired in a
somewhat aggressive manner, holding up a length of black thread.
"A piece of ordinary pack-thread," I answered, affecting to examine
it with a critical eye.
"Do you know anything about it?" he said again, evidently in a very
bad temper.
"Sir," I answered, "I do not."
"Because if I thought you did - "
"Sir." I broke in, "you'll excuse me, but that seems a very
remarkable hat of yours.
"I repeat if I thought you did - "
"Of course," I went on, "each to his taste, but personally I prefer
one with less 'gymnastic' and more 'stay -at-home, qualities."
The hunting-crop was raised threateningly.
"Mr. Selwyn?" I inquired in a conversational tone.
The hunting-crop hesitated and was lowered.
"Well, sir?"
"Ah, I thought so," I said, bowing; "permit me to trespass upon
your generosity to the extent of a match - or, say, a couple.
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