wind to blow your head off。〃
There was another silence； and the sunset breaking more and more from
the sundering clouds； filled the room with soft fire and painted the dull
walls with ruby and gold。
〃Somebody once told me；〃 said Rosamund Hunt； 〃that it's easier
to keep one's head when one has lost one's heart。〃
〃Oh； don't talk such rubbish；〃 said Diana with savage sharpness。
Outside； the garden was clad in a golden splendour；
but the wind was still stiffly blowing； and the three men
who stood their ground might also have considered the problem
of hats and heads。 And； indeed； their position； touching hats；
was somewhat typical of them。 The tallest of the three abode
the blast in a high silk hat； which the wind seemed to charge
as vainly as that other sullen tower； the house behind him。
The second man tried to hold on a stiff straw hat at all angles；
and ultimately held it in his hand。 The third had no hat； and；
by his attitude； seemed never to have had one in his life。
Perhaps this wind was a kind of fairy wand to test men and women；
for there was much of the three men in this difference。
The man in the solid silk hat was the embodiment of silkiness and solidity。
He was a big； bland； bored and （as some said） boring man； with flat
fair hair and handsome heavy features； a prosperous young doctor
by the name of Warner。 But if his blondness and blandness seemed
at first a little fatuous； it is certain that he was no fool。
If Rosamund Hunt was the only person there with much money；
he was the only person who had as yet found any kind of fame。
His treatise on 〃The Probable Existence of Pain in the Lowest Organisms〃
had been universally hailed by the scientific world as at once solid
and daring。 In short； he undoubtedly had brains； and perhaps it was
not his fault if they were the kind of brains that most men desire
to analyze with a poker。
The young man who put his hat off and on was a scientific amateur in a
small way； and worshipped the great Warner with a solemn freshness。
It was； in fact； at his invitation that the distinguished doctor
was present； for Warner lived in no such ramshackle lodging…house；
but in a professional palace in Harley Street。 This young
man was really the youngest and best…looking of the three。
But he was one of those persons； both male and female；
who seem doomed to be good…looking and insignificant。
Brown…haired； high…coloured； and shy； he seemed to lose
the delicacy of his features in a sort of blur of brown
and red as he stood blushing and blinking against the wind。
He was one of those obvious unnoticeable people：
every one knew that he was Arthur Inglewood； unmarried； moral；
decidedly intelligent； living on a little money of his own；
and hiding himself in the two hobbies of photography and cycling。
Everybody knew him and forgot him； even as he stood there in the
glare of golden sunset there was something about him indistinct；
like one of his own red…brown amateur photographs。
The third man had no hat； he was lean； in light； vaguely
sporting clothes； and the large pipe in his mouth made him look
all the leaner。 He had a long ironical face； blue…black hair；
the blue eyes of an Irishman； and the blue chin of an actor。
An Irishman he was； an actor he was not； except in the old
days of Miss Hunt's charades； being； as a matter of fact；
an obscure and flippant journalist named Michael Moon。 He had
once been hazily supposed to be reading for the Bar；
but （as Warner would say with his rather elephantine wit）
it was mostly at another kind of bar that his friends found him。
Moon； however； did not drink； nor even frequently get drunk；
he simply was a gentleman who liked low company。
This was partly because company is quieter than society：
and if he enjoyed talking to a barmaid （as apparently
he did）； it was chiefly because the barmaid did the talking。
Moreover he would often bring other talent to assist her。
He shared that strange trick of all men of his type； intellectual and
without ambitionthe trick of going about with his mental inferiors。
There was a small resilient Jew named Moses Gould in the same
boarding…house； a man whose negro vitality and vulgarity amused
Michael so much that he went round with him from bar to bar；
like the owner of a performing monkey。
The colossal clearance which the wind had made of that cloudy sky grew
clearer and clearer； chamber within chamber seemed to open in heaven。
One felt one might at last find something lighter than light。
In the fullness of this silent effulgence all things collected their
colours again： the gray trunks turned silver； and the drab gravel gold。
One bird fluttered like a loosened leaf from one tree to another；
and his brown feathers were brushed with fire。
〃Inglewood；〃 said Michael Moon； with his blue eye on the bird；
〃have you any friends？〃
Dr。 Warner mistook the person addressed； and turning a broad
beaming face； said；
〃Oh yes； I go out a great deal。〃
Michael Moon gave a tragic grin； and waited for his real informant；
who spoke a moment after in a voice curiously cool； fresh and young；
as coming out of that brown and even dusty interior。
〃Really；〃 answered Inglewood； 〃I'm afraid I've lost touch with
my old friends。 The greatest friend I ever had was at school；
a fellow named Smith。 It's odd you should mention it； because I
was thinking of him to…day； though I haven't seen him for seven
or eight years。 He was on the science side with me at school
a clever fellow though queer； and he went up to Oxford when I
went to Germany。 The fact is； it's rather a sad story。
I often asked him to come and see me； and when I heard nothing I
made inquiries； you know。 I was shocked to learn that poor Smith
had gone off his head。 The accounts were a bit cloudy； of course；
some saying that he had recovered again； but they always say that。
About a year ago I got a telegram from him myself。 The telegram；
I'm sorry to say； put the matter beyond a doubt。〃
〃Quite so；〃 assented Dr。 Warner stolidly； 〃insanity is generally incurable。〃
〃So is sanity；〃 said the Irishman； and studied him with a dreary eye。
〃Symptoms？〃 asked the doctor。 〃What was this telegram？〃
〃It's a shame to joke about such things；〃 said Inglewood； in his honest；
embarrassed way； 〃the telegram was Smith's illness； not Smith。 The actual
words were； ‘Man found alive with two legs。'〃
〃Alive with two legs；〃 repeated Michael； frowning。 〃Perhaps a version
of alive and kicking？ I don't know much about people out of their senses；
but I suppose they ought to be kicking。〃
〃And people in their senses？〃 asked Warner； smiling。
〃Oh； they ought to be kicked；〃 said Michael with sudden heartiness。
〃The message is clearly insane；〃 continued the impenetrable Warner。
〃The best test is a reference to the undeveloped normal type。
Even a baby does not expect to find a man with three legs。〃
〃Three legs；〃 said Michael Moon； 〃would be very convenient in this wind。〃
A fresh eruption of the atmosphere had indeed almost thrown them
off their balance and broken the blackened trees in the garden。
Beyond； all sorts of accidental objects could be seen scouring
the wind…scoured skystraws； sticks； rags； papers； and； in the distance；
a disappearing hat。 Its disappearance； however； was not final；
after an interval of minutes they saw it again； much larger and closer；
like a white panama； towering up into the heavens like a balloon；
staggering to and fro for an instant like a stricken kite；
and then settling in the centre of their own lawn as falteringly
as a fallen leaf。
〃Somebody's lost a good hat；〃 said Dr。 Warner shortly。
Almost as he spoke； another object came over the garden wall；
flying after the fluttering panama。 It was a big green umbrella。
After that came hurtling a huge yellow Gladstone bag；
and after that came a figure like a flying wheel of legs；
as in the shield of the Isle of Man。
But though for a flash it seemed to have five or six legs；
it alighted upon two； like the man in the queer telegram。
It took the form of a large light…haired man in gay green holiday clothes。
He had bright blonde hair that the wind brushed back like a German's；
a flushed eager face like a cherub's； and a prominent pointing nose；
a little like a dog's。 His head； however； was by no means cherubic
in the sense of being without a body。 On the contrary； on his vast
shoulders and shape generally gigantesque； his head looked oddly
and unnaturally small。 This have rise to a scientific theory
（which his conduct fully supported） that he was an idiot。
Inglewood had a politeness instinctive and yet awkward。
His life was full of arrested half gestures of assistance。
And even this prodigy of a big man in green； leaping the wall
like a bright green grasshopper； did not paralyze that small
altruism of his habits in such a matter as a lost hat。
He was stepping forward to recover the green gentleman's
head…gear； when he was struck rigid with a roar like a bull's。
〃Unsportsmanlike！〃 bellowed the big man。 〃Give it fair play；
give it fair play！〃 And he came after his own hat quickly
but cautiously； with burning eyes。 The hat had seemed at first
to droop and dawdle as