But the next day when Banty drove down to Kamloops to meet the train,
and his cousin stepped from the sleeper on to the station platform,
things looked worse than threatened misery. The future loomed before him
like a tragedy; he almost groaned aloud, for swinging towards him with a
loose-jointed English gait was a tall, yellow-haired chap, the size of
a man, with a face sea-tanned between a pink and a brown, his long neck
encircled with a very high, very stiff collar, his light grey suit
pressed as if it had just arrived from the tailor's, and poor Banty's
quick eye flew from the smiling pink face to the faultlessly-trousered
legs--horrors! The trousers were _long_. (Banty had at least expected
a boy of his own size and age.) But, worst of all, below the trousers
gleamed immaculate shoes of patent leather!
"I'm glad Eena didn't come," moaned Banty. "If he'd seen _this_, he
would have steered clear of the ranch for weeks." Then, bracing himself
like a man, he went forward with outstretched hand to greet his
unwelcome relative. The English lad blushed like a girl as he met his
Canadian cousin, but his handclasp was decidedly masculine as his soft
London voice said: "Awfully good of you to come and fetch me, don't
you know.
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