When Alfred returned to the living room he was followed by his
secretary, who carried two well-filled satchels. His temper was not
improved by the discovery that he had left certain important papers
at his office. Dispatching his man to get them and to meet him at the
station with them, he collected a few remaining letters from the drawer
of the writing table, then uneasy at remaining longer under the same
roof with Zoie, he picked up his hat, and started toward the hallway.
For the first time his eye was attracted by a thick layer of dust and
lint on his coat sleeve. Worse still, there was a smudge on his cuff.
If there was one thing more than another that Alfred detested it was
untidiness. Putting his hat down with a bang, he tried to flick the dust
from his sleeve with his pocket handkerchief; finding this impossible,
he removed his coat and began to shake it violently.
It was at this particular moment that Zoie's small face appeared
cautiously from behind the frame of the bedroom door. She was quick to
perceive Alfred's plight. Disappearing from view for an instant, she
soon reappeared with Alfred's favourite clothes-brush. She tiptoed into
the room.
Barely had Alfred drawn his coat on his shoulders, when he was startled
by a quick little flutter of the brush on his sleeve. He turned
in surprise and beheld Zoie, who looked up at him as penitent and
irresistible as a newly-punished child.
"Oh," snarled Alfred, and he glared at her as though he would enjoy
strangling her on the spot.
"Alfred," pouted Zoie, and he knew she was going to add her customary
appeal of "Let's make up." 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.