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The two ladies rose about three
inches, and greeted him as Mr. Chiffield. Mr. Chiffield bowed stiffly,
smiled mechanically, and cast a sweeping glance at the three men
present. This glance, and the looks with which it was met, called up a
singular train of associations.
Maltboy remembered the new comer as a fellow who had trod on his corns
getting into an Amity street stage. Overtop remembered him as an
eccentric individual, who always carried, without the slightest
reference to existing weather, an umbrella under his arm, with the point
rearward, and held at just the angle to pierce the eye of a person
walking incautiously after him. Overtop had frequently felt a strong
inclination to pull the umbrella out from behind, and ask the bearer to
carry it in a less threatening manner.
Mr. Chiffield, on the other hand, readily recalled Matthew Maltboy as a
suspicious person whom he had seen hanging around an up-town hotel,
about a year and a half before (when Maltboy was paying his ineffectual
addresses to a cruel Cuban beauty who passed the summer months at that
house).


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