"Suit yourself," says I, towin' him into Mr. Robert's private office.
"You can shed the heather wrap in here, if you like."

"I--I wish I could," says he.

"Wha-a-at!" says I. "She ain't sewed you into it, has she? Anyhow,
you don't have to keep it buttoned tight under your chin with all this
steam heat on."

"I know," says Ferdy, sighin'. "I nearly roasted, coming down in the
train. But, you see, it--it hides the tie."

"Eh?" says I. "Something else Marjorie picked out? Let's have a peek."

Ferdy blushes painful. "It's awful," he groans, "perfectly awful!"

"Not one of these nutty Futurist designs, like a scrambled rainbow shot
full of pink polliwogs?" says I.

"Worse than that," says Ferdy, unbuttonin' the overcoat reluctant.
"Look!"

"Zowie! A plush one!" says I.

Course, they ain't so new. I'd seen 'em in the zippy haberdashers'
windows early in the fall; but I don't remember havin' met one out of
captivity before. And this is about the plushiest affair you could
imagine; bright orange and black, and half an inch thick.

"Whiffo!" says I. "That is something to have wished onto you! Looks