" But Alfred was in no mood
for nonsense. He thrust his hands in his pockets and made
straight for the outer doorway.
Smiling to herself as she saw him leaving without his hat, Zoie
slipped it quickly beneath a flounce of her skirt. No sooner had
Alfred reached the sill of the door than his hand went
involuntarily to his head; he turned to the table where he had
left his hat. His face wore a puzzled look. He glanced beneath
the table, in the chair, behind the table, across the piano, and
then he began circling the room with pent up rage. He dashed
into his study and out again, he threw the chairs about with
increasing irritation, then giving up the search, he started
hatless toward the hallway. It was then that a soft babyish
voice reached his ear.
"Have you lost something, dear?" cooed Zoie.
Alfred hesitated. It was difficult to lower his dignity by
answering her, but he needed his headgear. "I want my hat," he
admitted shortly.
"Your hat?" repeated Zoie innocently and she glanced around the
room with mild interest. "Maybe Mary took it."
"Mary!" cried Alfred, and thinking the mystery solved, he dashed
toward the inner hallway.
"Let ME get it, dear," pleaded Zoie, and she laid a small
detaining hand upon his arm as he passed.
"Stop it!" commanded Alfred hotly, and he shook the small hand
from his sleeve as though it had been something poisonous.
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