The heartsick crunch came hard upon the heels
of my heels coming hard upon the unfortunate
bumbershoot, and before I could fully blast forth
a fourth 'Blast!' I asked Jeeves what that thingie
was called at the end.
‘At the tip of a brolly, Jeeves.
Like a lace aglet or a hammer peen.’
'A ferrule, sir.'
'Indeed? That can't be right. Are you sure it
isn't something more martial, like “bayonet,”
but less upsettingly French?'
'I'm quite certain, sir.'
‘Well. We shall require every part BUT the
ferrule, Jeeves. The umbrella is not bloodied, but
quite bowed. Or perhaps no. Perhaps a ticket on the
Orient Express might more suit, before Aunt Agatha
returns. One is precariously on the rim of the tureen
and in danger of landing in the soup.’
- G. Maupin