"Then," replied the Idiot, unabashed, "it is time you returned it. Don't
you think men's morals are rather lax in this matter of umbrellas, Mr.
Whitechoker?" he added, turning from the School-master, who began to
show signs of irritation.

"Very," said the Minister, running his finger about his neck to make the
collar which had been sent home from the laundry by mistake set more
easily--"very lax. At the last Conference I attended, some person,
forgetting his high office as a minister in the Church, walked off with
my umbrella without so much as a thank you; and it was embarrassing too,
because the rain was coming down in bucketfuls."

"What did you do?" asked the landlady, sympathetically. She liked Mr.
Whitechoker's sermons, and, beyond this, he was a more profitable
boarder than any of the others, remaining home to luncheon every day and
having to pay extra therefor.

"There was but one thing left for me to do. I took the bishop's
umbrella," said Mr. Whitechoker, blushing slightly.

"But you returned it, of course?" said the Idiot.

"I intended to, but I left it on the train on my way back home the next
day," replied the clergyman, visibly embarrassed by the Idiot's
unexpected cross-examination.

"It's the same way with books," put in the Bibliomaniac, an unfortunate
being whose love of rare first editions had brought him down from
affluence to boarding. "Many a man who wouldn't steal a dollar would run
off with a book. I had a friend once who had a rare copy of _Through