"Now, my umbrella, if you please?"
"You may have mine," he answered. "Yours is so desolate looking that you might as well go on your way without one as to attempt to use it again."
"You are kind, indeed," she replied, with reserve, as she was making an effort to hoist her wrecked umbrella, which he had turned over to her, but still standing under his.
She was now facing the lamp that was feebly radiating down upon them, and he could see, plainly enough, that she was pretty. He had divined as much, however, basing his divination upon her beautifully modulated and sweet voice, which he thought could accompany no other than blue eyes, rosy cheeks and cupid lips.
"Will you accept mine?" he asked again, seeing she was having trouble in raising her own to a due and rigid uprightness.
"To whom shall I return it, should I accept it?" she asked.
"Oh, never mind its return," he replied.
"Then I shall not accept it," she insisted.
"If you insist on returning it, then to the office of Jarney & Lowman," he answered.
"Why, what have you to do with that firm?" she asked, with surprise.