Walking in the opposite direction to Loring on the same sidewalk was another man. His quick, decisive steps and the slightly deprecating glance which he cast at any thing of beauty in the windows of the shops that he passed proclaimed him an American. The expression on his face varied from amusement to scorn as he glanced at things that were different from those in the States. There was in his whole manner that good-humored toleration of the best achievements of another nation that marks the travelling American. The sidewalk was narrow, and the heavy shoulders of this man overshadowed half the distance across. He was covering a good yard at a stride, which was all the more remarkable as the most of his height was above the waist. Had he been a girl, his hair would have been called auburn where it showed beneath his hat. Being a man, it may be truthfully said that it matched the bricks of the building he was passing. His eyes, which were as round as the portholes of a ship, betokened a degree of honesty and kindness which matched well with the general effect of strength and homeliness given by his whole appearance. The energy of all his motions was a sharp contrast to Loring’s lazy stroll. At the second that he reached Loring, his eyes were uplifted in wondering curiosity at the bright colors of the roof tiles. His preoccupation, combined with Loring’s absorption, made a collision inevitable. And the inevitable, as usual, took place. “I beg your pard—” began Stephen, raising his eyes. “Stephen Loring!” exclaimed the stranger. “Where in the devil did you come from?” “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. “To think of dear old Steve Loring reduced to peddling umbrellas!” he said to himself.