Just as this individual came opposite the lumber pile the first dedicatory sneeze of a whole subsequent series of sneezes which had been burgeoning somewhere in the top of Mr. Leary's head, and which that unhappy gentleman had been mechanically endeavouring to suppress, burst from captivity with a vast moist report. At the explosion the passer-by spun about and his whistle expired in a snort of angered surprise as the bared head of Mr. Leary appeared above the topmost board of the pile, and Mr. Leary's abashed face looked into his.
"Say," he demanded, "wotcher meanin', hidin' there and snortin' in a guy's ear?"
His manner was truculent; indeed, verged almost upon the menacing. Evidently the shock had adversely affected his temper, to the point where he might make personal issues out of unavoidable trifles. Instinctively Mr. Leary felt that the situation which had arisen called for diplomacy of the very highest order. He cleared his throat before replying.
"Good evening," he began, in what he vainly undertook to make a casual tone of voice. "I beg your pardon—the sneeze—ahem—occurred when I wasn't expecting it. Ahem—I wonder if you would do me a favour?"
"I would not! Come snortin' in a guy's ear that-a-way and then askin' him would he do you a favour: You got a crust for fair!" Here, though, a natural curiosity triumphed over the rising tides of indignation. "Wot favour do you want, anyway?" he inquired shortly.
"Would you—would you—I wonder if you would be willing to sell me that overcoat you're wearing?"
"I would not!"
"You see, the fact of the matter is I happened to be needing an overcoat very badly at the moment," pressed Mr. Leary. "I was hoping that you might be induced to name a price for yours."
"I would not! M. J. Cassidy wears M. J. Cassidy's clothes, and nobody else wears 'em, believe me! Wot's happened to your own coat?"
"I lost it—I mean it was stolen."