"Good evening, mates," said the linesman, gazing curiously and anxiously
round him as he deposited a bundle on the table, and laid his swagger
cane beside it.
"What's your height?" inquired Joe abruptly. "Seven foot?"
"No, only six foot four," said the new arrival, modestly. "I'm not proud
of it. It's much easier for a small man to slip off than a big one."
"It licks me," said Joe thoughtfully, "what they want 'em back for--I
should think they'd be glad to git rid o' such"--he paused a moment
while politeness struggled with feeling, and added, "skunks."
"P'raps I've a reason for being a skunk, p'raps I haven't," retorted
Private Smith, as his face fell.
"This'll be your bunk," interposed Dan hastily; "put your things in
there, and when you are in yourself you'll be as comfortable as a oyster
in its shell."
The visitor complied, and, first extracting from the bundle some tins of
meat and a bottle of whiskey, which he placed upon the table, nervously
requested the honour of the present company to supper. With the
exception of Joe, who churlishly climbed back into his bunk, the men
complied, all agreeing that boys of Billy's age should be reared on
strong teetotal principles.
Supper over, Private Smith and his protectors retired to their couches,
where the former lay in much anxiety until two in the morning, when they
got under way.
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