He turned round with angry remonstrance.  The soldier had fallen back on to the seat, and was grinning inanely; the drovers were enjoying the joke beyond measure.

‘Theer, lad!’ one of them cried.  ‘Tha’s doon it nah!  Tha’ll a’ to buy him a new ’at for his ‘eead, soon as we get i’to Hebs’orth.’

‘’Appen he’s got no brass,’ suggested the other, guffawing.

It was the case; the soldier had a copper or two at most.  The drovers of course held themselves free of responsibility.  Hood felt in his own pocket; but he was well aware that a shilling and three-halfpence was all he carried with him—­save the bank-note in his pocket-book.  Yet it was impossible to go through Hebsworth with uncovered head, or to present himself hatless at the office of Legge Brothers.  Already the train was slackening speed to enter the station.  Would any hatter trust him, on his representing whence he came?  He feared not.  Not the least part of his trouble was the thought of having to buy a new hat at all; such an expense was ill to be borne just now.  Of course—­he said to himself, with dreary fatalism—­a mishap is sure to come at the worst time.  It was the experience of his life.

Hood was a shy man; it was misery to have attention drawn to himself as it naturally would be as soon as he stepped out on to the platform.  But there was no help; with a last angry look at the drunken soldier, he nerved himself to face the ordeal.  As he walked hurriedly out of the crowd, the cry ‘Cab, sir?’ fell upon his ears.  Impossible to say how he brought himself to such a pitch of recklessness, but in a moment he was seated in a hansom, having bidden the driver take him to the nearest hatter’s.  The agony of embarrassment has driven shy men to strange audacities, but who ever dared more than this? He would be compelled to change the note!

Whatever might be the cause, whether it was the sudden sense of refuge from observation, or the long unknown pleasure of riding in a cab, as he sped along the streets he grew almost merry; at length he positively laughed at the adventure which had befallen him.  It mattered nothing whether he gave Dagworthy the money in a note or in change, and, on being told the story, his employer might even feel disposed to pay for the hat.  He would pay for the hat!  By the time the cab drew up, Hood had convinced himself of this.  He was in better spirits than he had been for many a day.

‘Can you change me a ten-pound note?’ were his first words to the hatter.  ‘If you can’t, I must go elsewhere; I have nothing smaller.’

The salesman hesitated.

‘You want a silk hat?’

‘Yes, but not an expensive one.’

A pen was brought, and Hood was requested to endorse the note.  What security—­under the circumstances—­such a proceeding could give, the hatter best knew; he appeared satisfied, and counted out his sovereigns.  Hood paid the cabman, and walked off briskly towards the office of Legge Brothers.