“Baird Radlett!” called Stephen, as if stupefied.
They shook hands warmly. Radlett was an old friend of Stephen’s, one who had been an intimate in the days before Loring’s misfortunes.
“Come on, Steve, we’ll go and get a drink,” said Radlett.
Loring shook his head. “Not for me, thanks,” he answered.
“Phew!” whistled Radlett. “Since when?” he involuntarily exclaimed. Then for the first time he took notice of the strange load which Loring was carrying.
“What on earth, Steve?” he asked, pointing to the umbrellas.
In the old days Loring had been well off, Radlett rich, and it hurt Stephen to explain his abject poverty. He hesitated a moment, then unblushingly replied:
“Why you see, Baird, I am on a sort of house-party here, and the weather being fine, I thought that I would take all the girls’ umbrellas around to be fixed.”
Radlett stared in amazement, then both broke into shouts of laughter, as the ridiculousness of the excuse struck them simultaneously.
“See here, Steve, I know that you are in hard luck. Come down to my hotel with me, and we will talk things over,” said Radlett. Putting his arm affectionately through Loring’s, he dragged him, protesting, along with him. As they walked, Stephen explained the matter of the umbrellas, while Radlett listened amused, but a bit saddened.