“To be sure I can for such a handsome gentleman as yourself,” said Mat, good naturedly; he then added, “That’s a beautiful hat you’ve got on, mister; it looks like a real salamander!” “Well,” said the youth, “it’s a pretty good hat, I believe; but whether it’s a salamander, or not, I can’t say.” “Let me see it,” said Olmsted; and, taking it in his hand, he felt of it with his thumb and finger, smelt of it, and smoothed down the fur with his sleeve. “Yes,” said he, at length, “I’ll bet that’s a real salamander hat; and if it is you may put it under that forestick, and it won’t burn any more than a witch’s broomstick.” “Did you say you would bet that it’s a salamander hat?” said the young man. “To be sure I will,” said Mat; “I’ll bet you a mug of flip of it; for if there ever was a salamander hat, that’s one. Now I’ll lay that if you put it under the forestick, it won’t singe a hair of it.” “Done!” said the youth, and the two having shaken hands in token of mutual agreement, the youth gave his hat to Olmsted, who thrust it under the forestick. The fire was of the olden fashion, and consisted of almost a cartload of hickory logs, and they were now in full blast. The people in the bar-room, attracted by the singular wager, had gathered round the fire, to see the result of the experiment. In an instant the hat was enveloped by the flames, and in the course of a few seconds it began to bend and writhe, and then curled into a scorched and blackened cinder. “Hulloo!” said Mat Olmsted, seizing the tongs and poking out the crumpled relic from the bed of coals, at the same time adding, with well-feigned astonishment, “Who ever did see the like of that! it wasn’t a salamander, arter all! Well, mister, you’ve won the bet. Hulloo, landlord, give us a mug of flip.” The force of the joke soon fell upon the conceited young man. He had indeed won the wager--but he had lost his hat! At first he was angry, and seemed disposed to make a personal attack upon the cause of his mortification; but Matthew soon cooled him down. “Don’t mind it, my lad,” said he; “it will do you good in the long run. You are like a young cockerel, that is tickled with his tall red comb, and having had it pecked off, is ever after a wiser fowl. Take my advice, and if you have a better hat than your neighbors, don’t think that it renders you better than they. It’s not the hat, but the head under it, that makes the man. At all events, don’t be proud of your hat till you get a real salamander!” This speech produced a laugh at the expense of the coxcomb, and he soon left the room. He had suffered a severe rebuke, and I could hardly think that my companion had done altogether right; and when I spoke to him afterward, he seemed to think so himself. He, however, excused what he had done, by saying that the fellow was insolent, and he hoped the lesson would be useful to him.