Saturday, August 29, 2009

The hat salesman who hid his wares all over town

The Atlas of Curiosities: Part 40

“You look as if you could use a hat!”

We started.  Where did the voice come from?  We turned around.

“A hat!” Said a tall, thin man.  “A hat! A hat? Nothing to fear!”

He began circling us quickly, jotting notes in a small notebook.  “Your size?” he said, craning his neck to the side, “No matter!  I’ll estimate!  I have just the hat!  The chapeau if you will.”

He ran off down the road.  Along the way he poked his head into various nooks and crannies: glancing into mailboxes, looking through bushes.  We ran after him, checking where he had checked.

“Hands off the merchandise!” he said, looking over his shoulder. In each place we looked we found some form of headgear.  A top hat, a bowler, a cap, or a beret.

Ahead of us, the man was climbing into a tree, which was just beginning to show the year’s first buds. He reached into a bird’s nest, disturbed its inhabitants.

“Pardon!” he exclaimed. “Excuse me!”

He produced a fedora out of the nest, and leapt back down onto the street.

“And here we have it,” he said with a grandiose air.  He was slightly out of breath.

He handed over he hat and held his hand out, apparently for remuneration.  When he received it, he walked off briskly, bowing to anyone he met and remarking upon their headgear.  Everyone in town, we noticed, was adorned with lovely, perfectly fitting hats.