Fields's cause looked blue. One director after another groped to the
door, saying, as he went, "I can't encourage it, Mr. President--tell him
'No,' Mr. President--it would only make the rest uneasy if we allowed
it--plenty more to fill his place."
The hatter's voice stopped further mention of the subject. He stood at
one end of the apartment in a paroxysm of laughter. Tears filled his
eyes. He pointed to another director, who, at the other extremity of the
room, was also puzzling over a coat. "There's Stuart with my mackintosh!
He's trying to _put it on--_and here am I with _his_ coat trying to put
_that_ on. I--I said to myself, 'This is pretty large for a slim man
like you.'--Great God, Stuart, if I hadn't been quick-sighted we might
have stayed here all night!" He immediately fell into another fit of
laughter, and so did his friend. They exchanged coats with great
hilarity, and those who had gone out of the door lumbered back to learn
the cause of it. The story went round from one to the other, "Why,
Stuart had Jacobs's coat, and Jacobs had Stuart's coat!" Everybody went
into convulsions, and the president drew out his pocket-handkerchief and
shrieked into it.
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