"I'll do the best I can."
A bespectacled old man shuffled into the office at that moment, in response to the manager's summons, and stood waiting in front of the desk.
"Kauffman, here," said the manager, "is our expert. What he doesn't know about wigs isn't worth knowing." Then, turning to the old man, he handed him the red wig. "Remember it, Kauffman?"
The old man looked at it doubtfully. Then he gazed at the ceiling.
"Red wig . . . red wig . . ." he muttered.
"About two years old, isn't it?" prompted the manager.
"Not quite. Year'n a half, I'd say. Looks like a comedy character type. Wait'll I think. There ain't been so many of our customers playin' that kind of a part inside a year and a half. Let's see. Let's see." The old man paced up and down the office, muttering names under his breath. Suddenly, he stopped, snapping his fingers.
"I have it," he said. "It must have been Morley who bought that wig. That's who it was! Harold Morley. He is playing in Shakespearian repertoire with Hamlin's company. Very fussy about his wigs. Has to have 'em just so. I remember he bought this one because he came in here about a month ago and ordered another just like it."
