On Monday Harold drove into town in his cream-colored Duesenberg with the top down, so he could wave at everyone on the road and on the sidewalks of Mandleville. And everyone waved back, grinning. They probably thought him a very rich man.

In the office of Bexley, Dumas, Franklin, and Meeks, he made sure to pause and talk with the receptionist Penelope, to give her a chance to admire his purple cashmere sweater and camel’s hair sports coat. His fairy god-granduncle had been especially good to him this morning. Yesterday had been even better: gray flannel slacks, a burgundy Harris tweed herringbone jacket, and a red model A Ford. That had brought him not only smiles and waves, but also whoops and hollers.

In the mail room, he lingered over the sorting of mail, taking three times as long as necessary, to give his office cohorts time to stop and praise his sartorial elegance.

Bio: Malcolm Glass