Chapter 57

Whenever the scrivener was unaccountably absent, Mr. Tutt would glance into the cage and, if the old fur coat were not there, would remark reassuringly, “Scraggs is all right. He’s got his coat!” Whereas the sight of it hanging there, in its owner’s absence, inevitably aroused fears as to his condition—like a storm signal indicating the imminence of wet weather. As Tutt had once put it rather neatly: “Scraggs’ coat on that peg is the crepe on the door-knob of his sobriety.” And he wore it winter and summer—his magi…