“He has a style,” said Peter; “he writes with distinction. Make an appointment for me with him.”
Clodd, on missing his umbrella, was indignant.
“What’s the good of this thing to me?” commented Clodd. “Sort of thing for a dude in a pantomime! The fellow must be a blithering ass!”
Tommy gave to the stranger messages from both when next he called. He appeared more grieved than surprised concerning the umbrellas.
“You don’t think Mr. Clodd would like to keep this umbrella in exchange for his own?” he suggested.
“Hardly his style,” explained Tommy.
“It’s very peculiar,” said the stranger, with a smile. “I have been trying to get rid of this umbrella for the last three weeks. Once upon a time, when I preferred to keep my own umbrella, people used to take it by mistake, leaving all kinds of shabby things behind them in exchange. Now, when I’d really like to get quit of it, nobody will have it.”
“Why do you want to get rid of it?” asked Tommy. “It looks a very good umbrella.”
“You don’t know how it hampers me,” said the stranger. “I have to live up to it. It requires a certain amount of resolution to enter a cheap restaurant accompanied by that umbrella. When I do, the waiters draw my attention to the most expensive dishes and recommend me special brands of their so-called champagne. They seem quite surprised if I only want a chop and a glass of beer. I haven’t always got the courage to disappoint them. It is really becoming quite a curse to me. If I use it to stop a ’bus, three or four hansoms dash up and quarrel over me. I can’t do anything I want to do. I want to live simply and inexpensively: it will not let me.”
Tommy laughed. “Can’t you lose it?”