"Have you figured that out?" whispered the Itinerant Tinker at length.
"I haven't tried," Dickey admitted.
"I tried once," the Itinerant Tinker said, "but I ran out of paper and gave it up. Then, when the night fell," he resumed dolefully, after another long interval of silence, "I tried to prop it up. But I met with the same difficulty that confronted me in patching up the day, and was forced to abandon that too."
"In which direction were you going when I met you?" Dickey asked.
The Itinerant Tinker pointed ahead of him along the path and mopped his bald head.
"But where?" insisted Dickey.
"To the Crypt. I was going to the Crypt," murmured the Itinerant Tinker, "to see whether I couldn't get some umbrellas to mend."
"But they don't need umbrellas in the Crypt, do they?" Dickey asked, surprised.
"No, they don't," sighed the Itinerant Tinker; "and that's the reason I'm going there."
"If you don't mind," said Dickey, "I should like to go with you."