und or more; daring confections in gauze and feathers;
parterres of exotic blooms such as no earthly garden ever held; hats
with bows on 'em and hats with birds on 'em, and hats with beasts on
'em; hats that twitter and hats that squawk; hats of lordly velvet and
hats of plebeian corduroy; felt hats, straw hats, chip hats; wide brim
and narrow brim; skewered, beribboned, bebowed--finally, again, just
hats, hats, hats, a phantasmagoria of primary colors and gewgaws and
fallalerie pure and simple, before which the masculine brain fairly
reels. But the woman contemplates the show with serenity imperturbable:
the hat she wants is here somewhere, and it is only a matter of time
and patience to find it.

There is always a Mont Blanc to overtop the lesser Alpine summits--a
Koh-i-noor in whose splendor all inferior radiance is extinguished.

Indiman touched my elbow. "Look at that one," he murmured.

Now that WAS a hat. To describe it--but let me first bespeak the
indulgence of my feminine readers. I am not an authority upon
hats--most distinctly not; and I shall probably display my ignorance
with the first word out of my mouth. But what matter. I am simply
trying to tell of what these poor mortal eyes have seen.

In effect, then, the foundation of the hat appeared to be a black
straw, with a wide, straight brim, the trimming being a gimcrackery
sort of material whose name for the moment has escaped me. Suppose we
call it barege, and let it go at that? The principal ornament was a
large, red apple in wax, pierced by a German-silver arrow, but the
really unique feature of the entire creation was the parasol-like
fringe that depended from the edge of the brim, a continuous row of
four-inch filaments upon which shining black beads were closely strung.
An over-bold device, perhaps, but it certainly caught the eye; there
was a barbaric suggestion in those strings of glittering beads that
made one think of the Congo and of tomtoms beating brazenly in the
moonlight. A hat that WAS a hat, as I have previously remarked, and
Indiman and I gazed upon it with undisguised interest. It is hardly
necessary to add that this particular hat had the place of honor in the
shop-window, it being mounted upon the waxen model of a simpering lady
with flaxen curls and a complexion incomparable. Assuredly, then, the
pearl of the collection.

"L. Hernandez," said Indiman, reading the sign over the door. "Spanish
Jew, I should say. Yes, and the Queen