O'Hara's Hat - D.J. Reid (classic books for 13 year olds TXT) 📗
- Author: D.J. Reid
Book online «O'Hara's Hat - D.J. Reid (classic books for 13 year olds TXT) 📗». Author D.J. Reid
here often?”
Suspicion arose again. “Why do you want to know?”
Red explained patiently, “We’re trying to locate the owner of this hat.”
The teenager shook his cup. “What’s it worth to you?”
Red reached into the pocket of his overcoat. “I don’t have any change. Emily...?”
Emily opened her purse. “I have three quarters and a nickel. Will that do?”
“That’ll be fine, lady,” said the boy as she dropped the coins into the plastic cup. “Thank you.”
“Now, then, young man,” said Red, “do you know who might have lost this hat?
“No,” replied the teenager.
“No?” said Emily. “But I thought....”
The boy held up a grimy finger. “I only asked you what it was worth. I didn’t say I knew anything.”
Red laughed. “He’s right, you know.” Then to the boy he said, “You’re a bright young man. I suspect you know lots of things.”
“Maybe I do and maybe I don’t. So, what’s with the hat?”
“We found it. Or I should say, I found it. And Mr. O’Hara....”
“Red.” He thrust out his hand to the teenager who shook it with some caution, as though the old man might get hold of him and not let go, perhaps until the police arrived.
“I’m Red.”
“Spike,” said the boy. “One name. Just Spike.”
“One name,” said Red. “Well, that’s plenty really, isn’t it? Spike. A very sturdy name.”
Emily steered the conversation back to its course. “Mr. O’Hara has been helping with this hat.”
“It’s just a hat,” said Spike.
“But,” Emily pointed out in a reasonable tone, “there once was a head under it. That’s what makes it important. Don’t you think so, Red?”
“Now that you put it that way, it all seems quite clear. It’s the human dimension you’re talking about. Oh, you are a clear thinker, Emily. You should shake her hand, Spike. This is a very clear-thinking woman.”
Spike, now in the spirit of things, shook Emily’s hand warmly and she, in turn, resisted the urge to wipe her hand on her coat afterward. “Pleased to meet you,” said the boy. Then he turned to Red. “Have you looked in the hat? Maybe the guy’s name is in the hat.”
“Another clear thinker. You two are well met.”
Emily said, “We were just going to do that.”
“Mind if I take a look?” asked Spike, on which request Red presented the boy with the bowler. “Fancy hat.” Spike turned it over once and then peered into the lining. “Yeah, see. There is a name in it.”
Emily’s excitement rose in her throat. At last, to have the mystery solved. “That’s promising. Once we know the man’s name, perhaps we can find his address in the telephone book.”
Red looked at her admiringly. “There’s that conscientious streak again, Emily. Your Mr. Howard was a fool. No doubt about it. You are a treasure.”
Emily turned to the boy. “What’s the name, Spike?”
“It says ‘John Carmichael O’Hara.’”
“But, that’s....” She looked at Red.
“That’s the same as my name.” Red guffawed until his ruddy cheeks turned an even brighter shade of red.
A confused look crossed Spike’s face. “I thought your name was Red.”
“That’s my nickname. I was a redhead when I was your age.”
“Red?” said Emily faintly.
Spike thrust the hat at Red. “You don’t know your own hat? I give up. And your generation has the nerve to talk about mine. Sheesh....” With that, he dropped his skateboard to the ground, stepped on with one foot, and pushed off with the other.
Emily, stunned, spoke slowly. “Is it really yours?”
Red, sensing the seriousness of the moment, said quietly, “I can’t imagine anyone else with that name, though it’s a big city. I guess it must be mine.”
“Try it on.”
Red stood, placed the hat on his head, which it fit perfectly, and turned as if he were on the runway of a fashion show. “It fits very well. How do I look?”
“You look splendid.... John. I think I will call you John, after all.”
“Why, thank you, Emily.” Red extended his arm. “Would you do me the honor of accompanying me to dinner?”
Emily smiled and, rising, took the proffered arm. “I would be delighted. You know, John, you remind me a little of Mr. Howard.”
“You always refer to your departed husband as ‘Mr. Howard.’ What was his given name?”
“You know,” said Emily, “I honestly don’t remember.”
“Funny thing, memory.”
Imprint
Suspicion arose again. “Why do you want to know?”
Red explained patiently, “We’re trying to locate the owner of this hat.”
The teenager shook his cup. “What’s it worth to you?”
Red reached into the pocket of his overcoat. “I don’t have any change. Emily...?”
Emily opened her purse. “I have three quarters and a nickel. Will that do?”
“That’ll be fine, lady,” said the boy as she dropped the coins into the plastic cup. “Thank you.”
“Now, then, young man,” said Red, “do you know who might have lost this hat?
“No,” replied the teenager.
“No?” said Emily. “But I thought....”
The boy held up a grimy finger. “I only asked you what it was worth. I didn’t say I knew anything.”
Red laughed. “He’s right, you know.” Then to the boy he said, “You’re a bright young man. I suspect you know lots of things.”
“Maybe I do and maybe I don’t. So, what’s with the hat?”
“We found it. Or I should say, I found it. And Mr. O’Hara....”
“Red.” He thrust out his hand to the teenager who shook it with some caution, as though the old man might get hold of him and not let go, perhaps until the police arrived.
“I’m Red.”
“Spike,” said the boy. “One name. Just Spike.”
“One name,” said Red. “Well, that’s plenty really, isn’t it? Spike. A very sturdy name.”
Emily steered the conversation back to its course. “Mr. O’Hara has been helping with this hat.”
“It’s just a hat,” said Spike.
“But,” Emily pointed out in a reasonable tone, “there once was a head under it. That’s what makes it important. Don’t you think so, Red?”
“Now that you put it that way, it all seems quite clear. It’s the human dimension you’re talking about. Oh, you are a clear thinker, Emily. You should shake her hand, Spike. This is a very clear-thinking woman.”
Spike, now in the spirit of things, shook Emily’s hand warmly and she, in turn, resisted the urge to wipe her hand on her coat afterward. “Pleased to meet you,” said the boy. Then he turned to Red. “Have you looked in the hat? Maybe the guy’s name is in the hat.”
“Another clear thinker. You two are well met.”
Emily said, “We were just going to do that.”
“Mind if I take a look?” asked Spike, on which request Red presented the boy with the bowler. “Fancy hat.” Spike turned it over once and then peered into the lining. “Yeah, see. There is a name in it.”
Emily’s excitement rose in her throat. At last, to have the mystery solved. “That’s promising. Once we know the man’s name, perhaps we can find his address in the telephone book.”
Red looked at her admiringly. “There’s that conscientious streak again, Emily. Your Mr. Howard was a fool. No doubt about it. You are a treasure.”
Emily turned to the boy. “What’s the name, Spike?”
“It says ‘John Carmichael O’Hara.’”
“But, that’s....” She looked at Red.
“That’s the same as my name.” Red guffawed until his ruddy cheeks turned an even brighter shade of red.
A confused look crossed Spike’s face. “I thought your name was Red.”
“That’s my nickname. I was a redhead when I was your age.”
“Red?” said Emily faintly.
Spike thrust the hat at Red. “You don’t know your own hat? I give up. And your generation has the nerve to talk about mine. Sheesh....” With that, he dropped his skateboard to the ground, stepped on with one foot, and pushed off with the other.
Emily, stunned, spoke slowly. “Is it really yours?”
Red, sensing the seriousness of the moment, said quietly, “I can’t imagine anyone else with that name, though it’s a big city. I guess it must be mine.”
“Try it on.”
Red stood, placed the hat on his head, which it fit perfectly, and turned as if he were on the runway of a fashion show. “It fits very well. How do I look?”
“You look splendid.... John. I think I will call you John, after all.”
“Why, thank you, Emily.” Red extended his arm. “Would you do me the honor of accompanying me to dinner?”
Emily smiled and, rising, took the proffered arm. “I would be delighted. You know, John, you remind me a little of Mr. Howard.”
“You always refer to your departed husband as ‘Mr. Howard.’ What was his given name?”
“You know,” said Emily, “I honestly don’t remember.”
“Funny thing, memory.”
Imprint
Publication Date: 10-10-2009
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