"Well, you are a sight!" was Stranleigh's greeting.
Mackeller glanced nervously at his costume.
"What's wrong?" he asked.
"Wrong? Everything. That apparel belongs to Piccadilly at about five o'clock in the afternoon, or, worse still, it pertains to the region of Threadneedle Street. You look like a prosperous banker who has lost his bearings in the country, and also lost his luggage."
"Well," said Mackeller deliberately, looking Stranleigh over, "your clothes are nothing to boast of."
"Maybe not, but they hang loose on me, and they fit in with the landscape. You are a blot on one of Nature's fairest scenes. I hope you have got knickerbockers in your bag."
"I didn't bring a bag. I'm returning by the 4.20 train."
"I'll lend you an old cap," continued Stranleigh, unheeding. "I never can stand that topper you're wearing. I'm at this moment resisting an almost uncontrollable temptation to bash it down over your eyes."
"I'm going back on the 4.20," reiterated Mackeller. Stranleigh rose to his feet.
"Who's your tailor?" he asked.
