of things happening； no one seemed to know what would blow away next。
Before they could speculate； the cheering and hallooing hat…hunter
was already halfway up the tree； swinging himself from fork to fork
with his strong； bent； grasshopper legs； and still giving forth
his gasping； mysterious comments。
〃Tree of life。。。 Ygdrasil。。。 climb for centuries perhaps。。。 owls nesting
in the hat。。。 remotest generations of owls。。。 still usurpers。。。 gone
to heaven。。。 man in the moon wears it。。。 brigand。。。 not yours。。。 belongs
to depressed medical man。。。 in garden。。。 give it up。。。 give it up！〃
The tree swung and swept and thrashed to and fro in the thundering
wind like a thistle； and flamed in the full sunshine like a bonfire。
The green； fantastic human figure； vivid against its autumn red and gold；
was already among its highest and craziest branches； which by bare luck did
not break with the weight of his big body。 He was up there among the last
tossing leaves and the first twinkling stars of evening； still talking
to himself cheerfully； reasoningly； half apologetically； in little gasps。
He might well be out of breath； for his whole preposterous raid had
gone with one rush； he had bounded the wall once like a football；
swept down the garden like a slide； and shot up the tree like a rocket。
The other three men seemed buried under incident piled on incident
a wild world where one thing began before another thing left off。
All three had the first thought。 The tree had been there for the five years
they had known the boarding…house。 Each one of them was active and strong。
No one of them had even thought of climbing it。 Beyond that；
Inglewood felt first the mere fact of colour。 The bright brisk leaves；
the bleak blue sky； the wild green arms and legs； reminded him irrationally
of something glowing in his infancy； something akin to a gaudy man
on a golden tree； perhaps it was only painted monkey on a stick。
Oddly enough； Michael Moon； though more of a humourist； was touched on
a tenderer nerve； half remembered the old； young theatricals with Rosamund；
and was amused to find himself almost quoting Shakespeare
〃For valour。 Is not love a Hercules；
Still climbing trees in the Hesperides？〃
Even the immovable man of science had a bright； bewildered sensation
that the Time Machine had given a great jerk； and gone forward
with rather rattling rapidity。
He was not； however； wholly prepared for what happened next。
The man in green； riding the frail topmost bough like a witch on a very risky
broomstick； reached up and rent the black hat from its airy nest of twigs。
It had been broken across a heavy bough in the first burst of its passage；
a tangle of branches in torn and scored and scratched it in every direction；
a clap of wind and foliage had flattened it like a concertina； nor can it
be said that the obliging gentleman with the sharp nose showed any adequate
tenderness for its structure when he finally unhooked it from its place。
When he had found it； however； his proceedings were by some counted singular。
He waved it with a loud whoop of triumph； and then immediately appeared
to fall backwards off the tree； to which； however； he remained
attached by his long strong legs； like a monkey swung by his tail。
Hanging thus head downwards above the unhelmed Warner； he gravely proceeded
to drop the battered silk cylinder upon his brows。 〃Every man a king；〃
explained the inverted philosopher； 〃every hat （consequently） a crown。
But this is a crown out of heaven。〃
And he again attempted the coronation of Warner； who； however； moved away
with great abruptness from the hovering diadem； not seeming； strangely enough；
to wish for his former decoration in its present state。
〃Wrong； wrong！〃 cried the obliging person hilariously。
〃Always wear uniform； even if it's shabby uniform！
Ritualists may always be untidy。 Go to a dance with soot on
your shirt…front； but go with a shirt…front。 Huntsman wears old coat；
but old pink coat。 Wear a topper； even if it's got no top。
It's the symbol that counts； old cock。 Take your hat；
because it is your hat after all； its nap rubbed all off
by the bark； dears； and its brim not the least bit curled；
but for old sakes' sake it is still； dears； the nobbiest tile
in the world。〃
Speaking thus； with a wild comfortableness； he settled or smashed
the shapeless silk hat over the face of the disturbed physician；
and fell on his feet among the other men； still talking；
beaming and breathless。
〃Why don't they make more games out of wind？〃 he asked in some excitement。
〃Kites are all right； but why should it only be kites？ Why； I thought
of three other games for a windy day while I was climbing that tree。
Here's one of them： you take a lot of pepper〃
〃I think；〃 interposed Moon； with a sardonic mildness；
〃that your games are already sufficiently interesting。
Are you； may I ask； a professional acrobat on a tour；
or a travelling advertisement of Sunny Jim？ How and why do you
display all this energy for clearing walls and climbing trees
in our melancholy； but at least rational； suburbs？〃
The stranger； so far as so loud a person was capable of it；
appeared to grow confidential。
〃Well； it's a trick of my own；〃 he confessed candidly。
〃I do it by having two legs。〃
Arthur Inglewood； who had sunk into the background of this scene of folly；
started and stared at the newcomer with his short…sighted eyes screwed up
and his high colour slightly heightened。
〃Why； I believe you're Smith；〃 he cried with his fresh； almost boyish voice；
and then after an instant's stare； 〃and yet I'm not sure。〃
〃I have a card； I think；〃 said the unknown； with baffling solemnity〃a card
with my real name； my titles； offices； and true purpose on this earth。〃
He drew out slowly from an upper waistcoat pocket a scarlet
card…case； and as slowly produced a very large card。
Even in the instant of its production； they fancied it was
of a queer shape； unlike the cards of ordinary gentlemen。
But it was there only for an instant； for as it passed from
his fingers to Arthur's； one or another slipped his hold。
The strident； tearing gale in that garden carried away
the stranger's card to join the wild waste paper of the universe；
and that great western wind shook the whole house and passed。
Chapter II
The Luggage of an Optimist
We all remember the fairy tales of science in our infancy； which played
with the supposition that large animals could jump in the proportion
of small ones。 If an elephant were as strong as a grasshopper； he could
（I suppose） spring clean out of the Zoological Gardens and alight
trumpeting upon Primrose Hill。 If a whale could leap from the sea
like a trout； perhaps men might look up and see one soaring above
Yarmouth like the winged island of Laputa。 Such natural energy；
though sublime； might certainly be inconvenient； and much of this
inconvenience attended the gaiety and good intentions of the man in green。
He was too large for everything； because he was lively as well as large。
By a fortunate physical provision； most very substantial creatures
are also reposeful； and middle…class boarding…houses in the lesser
parts of London are not built for a man as big as a bull and excitable
as a kitten。
When Inglewood followed the stranger into the boarding…house；
he found him talking earnestly （and in his own opinion privately）
to the helpless Mrs。 Duke。 That fat； faint lady could only
goggle up like a dying fish at the enormous new gentleman；
who politely offered himself as a lodger； with vast gestures
of the wide white hat in one hand； and the yellow Gladstone bag
in the other。 Fortunately； Mrs。 Duke's more efficient niece
and partner was there to complete the contract； for； indeed；
all the people of the house had somehow collected in the room。
This fact； in truth； was typical of the whole episode。
The visitor created an atmosphere of comic crisis； and from
the time he came into the house to the time he left it； he somehow
got the company to gather and even follow （though in derision）
as children gather and follow a Punch and Judy。 An hour ago；
and for four years previously； these people had avoided
each other； even when they had really liked each other。
They had slid in and out of dismal and deserted rooms in search
of particular newspapers or private needlework。 Even now they
all came casually； as with varying interests； but they all came。
There was the embarrassed Inglewood； still a sort of red shadow；
there was the unembarrassed Warner； a pallid but solid substance。
There was Michael Moon offering like a riddle the contrast
of the horsy crudeness of his clothes and the sombre sagacity
of his visage。 He was now joined by his yet more comic crony；
Moses Gould。 Swaggering on short legs with a prosperous
purple tie； he was the gayest of godless little dogs；
but like a dog also in this； that however he danced and
wagged with delight； the two dark eyes on each side of his
protuberant nose glistened gloomily like black buttons。
There was Miss Rosamund Hunt； still with the find white hat
framing her square； good…looking face； and still with her native
air of being dressed for some party that never came off。
She also； like Mr。 Moon； had a new companion； new so far as this
narrative goes； but in reality an old friend and a protegee。
This was a slight young woman in dark gray； and in no way
notable but for a load of dull red hair； of which the shape
somehow gave her pale face that triangular； almost peaked；
appearance which was given by the lowering headdress and deep rich
ruff of the Elizabethan beauties。 Her surname seemed to be Gray；
and Miss Hunt called her Mary； in that indescribable tone
applied to a dependent who has practically become a friend。
She wore a small silver cross on her very business…like
gray clothes； and was the only member of the party who went
to church。 Last； but the reverse of least； there as Diana Duke；
studying the newcomer with eyes of steel； and listening
carefully to every idiotic word he said。 As for Mrs。 Duke；
she smiled up at him； but never dreamed of listening to him。
She had never rea