"I say, I'm pleased to see you," said the little man standing by the letter-box. "Oh, hello," I said, remembering he was a new neighbor. "Simpson, isn't it?" "Yes, that's right." He seemed quite pleased by my ready recognition. "I wonder if you could lend me some money," he continued. "My wife gave me a letter to post, and I've just noticed it isn't stamped." "yes, they never are," I said, sympathetically . "It must go tonight--it really must! I'd get stamps out of the machine," explained Simpson," Only I find I have no small change about me." "I'm sorry, but I'm afraid I haven't either," I said. "Oh, dear, dear," he said. "Yes, well," I said, intending to move off. But he looked so unhappy standing there with the blue unstamped envelope that I really hadn't the heart to desert him. So I took him to my house and found some pennies and gave them to him, who, in the most business like way, made a note of the loan in his pocket-book, and left. But soon he turned up again. "I'm sorry I am a stranger round here and --well, I'm rather lost..." It took me several minutes to explain to him where the post office was. In the end I felt as lost as Simpson and had to accompany him to the post office, but, only to find the automatic stamp-machine was empty! "Oh!" Simpson was so desperate that he dropped the letter on the ground and when he picked it up there was a large black spot on its face. "Dear me," he said, "My wife told me to post it tonight. I'd better post it, if you know what I mean." I did know. Or, at least, I knew Mrs Simpson. Then I got a good idea, "Post the letter unstamped--let the other man pay double postage on it in the morning. " And he had to agree. Finishing off our job, I took him home. "I'm so grateful to you, really," he said when we reached his home. "That letter--it's only an invitation to dinner to Mr... Dear me!" "Why, what's the matter?" "Nothing. Just something I've remembered." "What?" But he didn't tell me. He just opened his eyes and his mouth at me like a wounded gold- fish, murmured a "Good-night", and went inside. All the way home I was wondering what it was that he had remembered. But I stopped wondering the next morning, when I had to pay the postman double postage for a blue envelope with a large black spot on its face. How would the writer describe Simpson?
Stupid and careless. Careless but warm-hearted. Optimistic and kind. Cautious but stubborn.