“One For His Knob.”

Contrast this with the spectacle of a man purchasing something to cover his soft spot!

He dashes into the hatter's.
“Hat!” he says—and nothing more.

“Hard or soft?” queries the hatter, in the manner of a waiter getting the “low down” on a customer's preference in boiled eggs.

“Soft,” snaps the hatee.

“Yes. Soft should suit your ‘head,” says the hatter. “How's this for size, shape, colour?”

Like a juggler whipping a canary out of a dog's mouth he produces a hat from nowhere.

Three seconds later the hat is bought—paid for—worn.

Of course, the hat buyer gets it in the eye when he arrives home, for the colour and shape are sure to be wrong and the hat either will slip down to his ears or sit on his head like a pigeon on the dome of St. Paul's. But it is bought, and that is the main thing.