On wet mornings the umbrella shop now keeps a row of droplet-sized chairs along the inner rim. Each drop sits down, nods once to the handle, and rides as far as the nearest bench, where it steps off without a splash.
We asked at the kiosk across the street. "I thought the spokes were whispering," said Mr. Hale, who always stands under the awning with his paper. "Then I saw them take their seats. Very orderly. Nobody stood in the aisle."
The keeper taped a small notice to the counter: Kindly do not shake until every passenger has nodded. Extra chairs may be borrowed if a cloud arrives all at once.
By evening the bench was only a little damp, and someone had left a thank-you on a leaf: the window seat was excellent, and the handle was polite.