He was very particular concerning his hats. In the latter Paris days he always wore a most carefully-brushed silk hat with flat brim,--the Quartier-Latin type. This, with his monocle--for on the street he wore a monocle--and his long overcoat, made him an exceedingly striking figure. One day he was in a shop, trying on a hat, when a dissatisfied customer rushed in, and, mistaking him for some one in charge, said: “I say, this ’at doesn’t fit.” Eyeing him critically a moment, Whistler said: “Neither does your coat.” * * * * * Whistler was thoroughly imbued with the military spirit; and if he had not been a great artist he would have made a good officer. He was born to command, and possessed physical courage of a high order. In stature and physique he was short and very slight,--could not have weighed more than one hundred and thirty pounds; but he was so perfectly proportioned that one did not notice his size except when in sharp contrast with others. Notwithstanding his inferiority in size and strength, he never in his life had the slightest hesitation in striking a man--even at the risk of annihilation--if he deemed the occasion required it. A good many years ago the editor of a gossipy sheet in London, called the _Hawk_, printed some items of a personal nature which Whistler resented. Not knowing the editor by sight, Whistler took a friend to point him out in the foyer of one of the London theatres. Although the man was a giant compared with Whistler, the latter, without a moment’s hesitation, went up to him and struck him across the face with a cane, saying with each blow, “Hawk, Hawk, Hawk.” The editor afterwards boasted that he immediately knocked Whistler down. Whistler claimed he slipped and fell; but, he said: “What difference does it make whether he knocked me down or whether I slipped? The fact is he was publicly caned, and what happened afterwards could not offset the publicity and nature of this chastisement. A gentleman lightly strikes another in the face with a glove; the bully thinks the insult is wiped out if he knocks some one down--the ethics of the prize ring; but according to the older notions the gentleman knows that the soft touch of the glove cannot be effaced by a blow of the fist,--for if it could, superiority in weight would render the cad and the bully immune. The historical fact is that I publicly drew my cane across his face; no one cares anything about his subsequent ragings, or whether I slipped and fell, or whether he trampled upon me.” Again, when an artist went up to him in the Hogarth Club in London and called him a liar and a coward, Whistler promptly slapped his face.