I am very miserable without my hat. It was one of those nice soft ones with a dent down the middle to collect the rain; one of those soft hats which wrap themselves so lovingly round the cranium that they ultimately absorb the personality of the wearer underneath, responding to his every emotion. When people said nice things about me my hat would swell in sympathy; when they said nasty things, or when I had had my hair cut, it would adapt itself automatically to my lesser requirements. In a word, it fitted--and that is more than can be said for your hard unyielding bowler. My hat and I dropped into a hall of music one night last week. I placed it under the seat, put a coat on it to keep it warm, and settled down to enjoy myself. My hat could see nothing, but it knew that it would hear all about the entertainment on the way home. When the last moving picture had moved away, my hat and I prepared to depart together. I drew out the coat and felt around for my--Where on earth ... I was calm at first. "Excuse me," I said politely to the man next to me, "but have you got two hats?" "Several," he replied, mistaking my meaning. I dived under the seat again, and came up with some more dust. "Someone," I said to a programme girl, "has taken my hat." "Have you looked under the seat for it?" she asked. It was such a sound suggestion that I went under the seat for the third time. "It may have been kicked further along," suggested another attendant. She walked up and down the row looking for it, and, in case somebody had kicked it into the row above, walked up and down that one too; and, in case somebody had found touch with it on the other side of the house, many other girls spread themselves in pursuit; and soon we had the whole pack hunting for it. Then the fireman came up, suspecting the worst. I told him it was even worse than that--my hat had been stolen. He had a flash of inspiration. "Are you sure you brought it with you?" he asked. The programme girls seemed to think that it would solve the whole mystery if I hadn't brought it with me. "Are you sure you are the fireman?" I said coldly. He thought for a moment, and then unburdened himself of another idea. "Perhaps it's just been kicked under the seat," he said. I left him under the seat and went downstairs with a heavy heart. At the door I said to the hall porter, "Have you seen anybody going out with two hats by mistake?" "What's the matter?" he said. "Lost your hat?" "It has been stolen." "Have you looked under the seats? It may have been kicked along a bit." "Perhaps I'd better see the manager," I said. "Is it any good looking under the seats for HIM?" "I expect it's just been kicked along a bit," the hall porter repeated confidently. "I'll come up with you and look for it." "If there's any more talk about being kicked along a bit," I said bitterly, "somebody WILL be. I want the manager."