“Of course you do! Never a morning but he stops at your bench and asks if you have an umbrella to mend.”
“I never have. What of him?”
“Have you any influence with him?”
“Not compared with yours.”
The Bonnie Lassie made a little gesture of despair. “I can’t find him. And Annie Oombrella won’t tell me where he is. She only cries.”
“That’s bad. You think he—he is—”
“Why don’t you say it outright, Dominie? You think he’s hiding.”
“Really!” I expostulated. “You come to me with accusations against the poor fellow and then undertake to make me responsible for them.”
“I don’t believe it’s true at all,” averred the Bonnie Lassie loyally. “I don’t believe Plooie is a coward. There’s some reason why he doesn’t go over and help! I want to know what it is.”
Perceiving that I was expected to provide excuses for the erring one, I did my best. “Over age,” I suggested.